Toxic Vengeance
by CapeZero
Summary: Deeks is taken by unknown men, whom try to get information from him in an attempt to gain vengeance over the team for their past actions. The story is rated M, and there are dark themes in this story: vivid mentions and descriptions of torture. Not for everyone, you have been warned. [Updates will be halted due to working abroad. Will continue in late August!]
1. Chapter 1

**Toxic Vengeance**

 _ **Summary: Deeks is taken by unknown men, whom attempt to get information from him in an attempt to gain vengeance over the team. The story is rated M, and there are dark themes in this story, vivid mentions and descriptions of torture. Not for everyone, you have been warned.**_

 **Warning: There will be vivid descriptions of torture in this story.**

 **Even though it's not the usual fluff I write, I hope you'll enjoy this attempt at a different story; it will be multiple characters, focusing on Deeks' mental torment and anguish and eventually his recovery. As always, any and all reviews, critiques, etc. are much appreciated.**

 **All the best, Cape**

* * *

"Wakey, wakey," he heard a faint voice reach out for him, but to no avail. A dark fog encompassed him in the land of the unconscious and he was unable to react to the muted sound, much less answer it directly.

A few moments later, he felt a dull pain on both his cheeks, what he would later recognize to be the result of someone slapping him. Surprisingly, the impact helped drive away some of the haze, that had clouded his mind and had disallowed him any responses to his surroundings.

"Wakey, wakey," the male voice tried again, the almost sickening sweet tone in which the voice uttered the words gave Deeks instant goosebumps, before he was able to suppress the reaction.

As the cloudiness of his mind dissipated, vivid thoughts reminded him of why he had lost his consciousness in the first place. He was on his way down the flight of stairs from his apartment, when he heard some rustling, he had turned around to check it out only to be struck by something from another angle before he remembered a sharp pain in his neck.

It was as if a vice was slowly tightening around his temples, and even though his eyes was closed, he could feel the room spinning as he was fighting back the wave of nausea. It became obvious to him that he was either suffering from a concussion, was influenced by some form of drugs, or both in the worst-case scenario.

Deciding against opening his eyes, Deeks instead tried to focus on all the surrounding sounds, trying to decipher where he might be, and who might have taken him. He could hear at least two pairs of shoes shuffling on what sounded like concrete, and some faint traffic, which he quickly wrote off as being useless, seeing as traffic can be heard from anywhere in Los Angeles and its' suburbs.

Actually that wasn't useless, he told himself inwardly after a short moment, since he now knew that he must still have been in the city of angels. His thoughts went to his team, and even though he did not know how long he had been out for, he had no doubts that his team would already be looking for him, doing anything in their power to find him and get him back. Sam and Callen would probably be chasing down every lead the Wonder Twins would find, and Kensi… his sweet, beloved Kensi. They had been in a relationship now for more than a year, and he couldn't even fathom what she was going through right now.

No matter what length Sam, Callen, Nell, and Eric and perhaps even Hetty would go to in order to see him come back to them, he knew it paled in comparison to the length of what Kensi Marie Blye would. She would tear the entire city down in order to find him, of that he was sure. He just needed to keep his promise of not leaving her until she did.

"No need to play possum anymore," the man continued in the vomit-inducingly sweet voice, almost singsongy as if he was speaking to a young child.

A hard strike to Deeks' midsection was a stark contrast to the voice. The unexpected punch causing him to cough and gasp for air.

"Now, was that so hard?" The sickening sweet voice turned to one of mocking laughter.

Once he had finally regained control of his breathing, Deeks looked at the man standing in front of him. He was an older man, dressed in a fine suit, Canali, if he wasn't mistaken, black greying hair and a beard covered his otherwise scarred face. After giving the well-dressed culprit a one-over and promptly nicknaming him Scarface for further referencing, he looked around the room, four brick walls and a metal door was all the could see for the blinding lights that was directed at him. He blinked rapidly to regain his sight, as he let his gaze drift down upon himself, seeing that he was sitting in a chair. As he tried moving his arms, he could feel his wrists tightly tied to the armrests of the wooden chair, and likewise, his ankles tied to the stool legs.

"Now," the culprit spoke up, causing Deeks to look at him. "We can do this one of two ways, the easy way… or the hard way."

"Isn't that a bit cliché?" Deeks countered disobligingly.

Not in the mood for any cockiness, the older man grabbed Deeks' cheeks forcefully with one hand, forcing him to look right into his eyes, which were now disturbingly close and dark with anger. He spoke in a fierce whisper, "I don't care how long it'll take for me to get the information from you. In fact, I might even enjoy if you struggle a bit. Your choice."

The man got his response, when the blond detective spat him in the face, making his reluctance to give any information clear to everyone in the room.

The man took out a small handkerchief from his back pocket and slowly wiped away the saliva from his face, staring at Deeks the entire time as his expression turned even grimmer than previously. He turned to the two men behind him, whom Deeks had been unable to see previously due to the spotlights, and nodded once, causing them to rush to the bound man, throwing several hard punches to his face and midsection.

A minute later, the two brutes both stepped back, looking mighty proud of themselves, as Deeks groaned in pain. He had a hard time catching his breath, undoubtedly caused by a cracked rib. His left eye had already started to swell shut, and he had trouble seeing anything but a blur from it. A cut on his forehead and split lip slowly tainted his otherwise white t-shirt with his crimson red blood.

"You just _had_ to choose the hard way, didn't you?" The boss of the group said, "Well, now you know what happens if you don't give me the answer I'm looking for."

Flashbacks to the terrible event where he and Sam had been captured went through his head and he found himself fearing that the culprits in front of him would force his mouth open, just as Sidorov and his men had done previously. An involuntary shudder released throughout his body at the dark thoughts the drill had caused.

"Scared?" Scarface laughed at him, obviously having seen the shudder.

"Nah," Deeks chuckled, regaining his composure as he drew strength from the fact that he survived the last encounter, where he was tied to a chair. "Just a bit chilly in here, that's all," he told the man with a signature smirk designed to annoy anyone.

"Well," Scarface said, as he started to remove his suit jacket. "I guess we can't have that you're uncomfortable," he chuckled to himself at the dark joke, before he walked to stand right in front of the restrained man. "Whom are you working for?" The man finally asked after a prolonged period of staring.

Deeks looked scrutinizing at the man, whatever it was that he had expected to be asked, this certainly wasn't it. He thought through his options, which was either telling the man NCIS, LAPD, or some obviously untrue thing and through that showing his defiance. An obvious choice, "I'm a hairdresser," he told the man smiling.

The man's expression turned to a foul scowl, as he backhanded Deeks' right cheek, causing another cut as the man's rings connected with the soft flesh. "I know you're with LAPD, I just need to know which agency, and which branch it is, that you're working with."

The blond liaison swallowed deeply, once again considering his options. He now knew that there had to be a connection to one of the cases, which he and the team had worked with, but since he did not recognize the man in front of him, or his gorillas, he had no clue which. The only things certain at that moment was that, one, he was going to be as defiant as ever, and, two, it was going to hurt like hell.

Another hard slap prevented him from further planning, "I'm waiting." The man coldly told him.

"I tend to work closely with our local bakery shop, you know how cops can't live without donu-" was all he was able to say, before the man's closed fist connected with his jaw.

Several more punches were thrown, until his head started sagging forward, his chin resting on his chest. That was unacceptable according to the man, who fiercely yanked his hair backwards, almost ripping the blond tendrils out by the root, so the beaten man would be forced to look at him once more.

"Who are you working for?" The anger was clear in the voice.

"I'm sorry I lied." He started, the usual smirk now somewhat hidden beneath the bruises and swellings that had already started to form. "It's not a bakery, it's actually more of a patisserie."

He knew he would take an additional beating for that impudent comment, but he couldn't stop himself. Being defiant towards violent tyrants had been something he had done, ever since he was just a child, and since there was no way in hell, he was going to give away The Office of Special Projects, he decided he might as well go with what he knows.

Unsurprisingly, the man was not appreciative of his witty reply, and retorted in the most expected way, by beating the hell out of him, having his two minions take over for him after he had thrown the first few punches. The onslaught continued until Deeks was unable to distinguish the blows from one another, as it was all a big blur of pain in the end. Dark spots started to appear in front of him, as his vision faltered, until he was encompassed by the welcomed unconsciousness once again.

...

"Shaggy not with you?" The large ex-Navy SEAL asked his female colleague, as she walked into the bullpen, bag over one shoulder and a coffee in the opposite hand.

"Good morning to you, too," she just laughed at her friend.

"Did you have an argument?" The team lead asked jokingly, joining the conversation.

"No, we just had one of our 'days off.' I'm sure he'll be here soon," she smiled easily.

The two senior agents knew about their younger counterpart's arrangement. Ever since the case that had resulted in Sam taking a sniper bullet to the chest and the gurkha, Thapa's unfortunate demise, Deeks and Kensi would periodically spend a night by themselves in order to avoid getting on each other's nerves. Preventative measures as Deeks called it.

With the minor mystery of the missing surfer solved, the team settled in for what seemed to be a morning of paperwork. No pressing cases meant catching up on whatever forms and reports needed, much to the glee of their operations manager.

"Shouldn't he be here by now?" Sam broke the silence.

The detective wasn't exactly known for his punctuality, but it was almost half an hour past when they would usually be there.

"He should," Kensi agreed, looking at her watch. "I'll try and call him," she said and pulled out her phone, quickly hitting speed dial.

After thirty seconds of her colleagues watching her curiously, she shook her head at them, as she was met by her boyfriend's voicemail message, "You've reached the phone of Marty Deeks. I've probably gone surfing. Leave a message and your number after the beep."

"Alright," Callen exclaimed as he stood up. "I'll go up to OPS, see if Eric and Nell can find out where he is."

Kensi watched as the team lead ascended the stairs, worry starting to creep in at the uncharacteristically late Deeks. She forced herself to get back to the dull paperwork, but the tiny feeling of dread at the no-show made it hard for her to concentrate on the task at hand, causing her to continuously peek at the empty staircase, as she waited for Callen to return with any news of his whereabouts.

Instead of Callen returning, it was the technical operator, who made his presence known. "Guys, you'd better come up here. Tell Hetty as well," Eric shouted a few minutes after the team lead had left the bullpen, panic etched into his every word.

Hetty had, of course, heard Eric's call as well and was already headed towards the staircase. The two agents quickly followed their operations manager up the stairs and into OPS.

"This footage is from last night," Eric started, glancing unsurely at the female agent.

"That's outside Deeks' place," Kensi realized, as she looked worriedly at the footage.

It showed Deeks walking towards the stairs at his apartment complex. He turned towards something off camera, when a man blitzed him with a baseball bat, knocking him in the head with the wooden weapon, causing Kensi to gasp loudly at the sight. A second man quickly appeared from where the detective had originally turned towards, and he pushed what looked to be a syringe into his neck. The blond went completely limp after just a few seconds, and the two men carried the lifeless body into a vehicle that had driven up onto the curb during the attack.

The whole thing lasted perhaps twenty seconds at the most before they were gone.

Callen and Sam shared a look. Given their occupations, they both highly doubted that he was taken for a ransom, making the more likely scenario that he was taken for information, and knowing how defiant the detective could be, would most likely mean torture. They both decided to leave that abhorrent thought unvoiced, neither wanting to further agitate their female coworker.

"He's been taken more than twelve hours ago?" Kensi asked, her voice faltering ever so slightly, as she attempted to keep up appearances for her team.

"I'm sorry, Kensi," Eric told her.

"Can't you track his phone?" Kensi asked anxiously.

"No, I'm sorry." Nell told her best friend, "They've turned it off. I've tried turning it back on, but they must have either removed the SIM-card or destroyed the phone," she told everyone in the room apologetically, even though it wasn't her fault.

Hetty nodded in acceptance, "I want you to track that vehicle, Mr. Beale," she said stoically. The experienced woman knew she had to remain focused and could not allow her feelings to cloud her rationale at times like this. "Ms. Jones, keep working the video, see if you can get a clear shot of these men's faces to run."

"On it," the tiny, redheaded woman acknowledged the order, as she turned in her chair and started typing furiously at the keyboard.

"You want us to go to the crime scene?" The team lead asked, when they didn't receive an order.

"Although I doubt you will find anything, you and Mr. Hanna may go to Mr. Deeks' apartment. See if these men left something."

The two senior agents quickly left the operations room, not wanting to waste a single second. Time was always of the essence whenever the crime was kidnapping, but in this case even more so, as the victim was a dear friend and colleague of theirs, and the culprits already had more than twelve hours of head start on them.

"What about me, Hetty?" Kensi asked, frustrated at not having anything to do currently after she had just watched her partner and boyfriend get kidnapped.

"My office, Ms. Blye," the operations manager told her calmly. "If Mr. Beale and Ms. Jones find anything, I would appreciate having you nearby to get there quickly, in case it's far from Mr. Deeks' apartment."

The small woman left before Kensi had any chance to disagree, causing her to look unsurely around the room. Her best friend caught her troubled gaze, "We'll let you know as soon as we have _anything_." The pixie-like woman assured her, before softly adding, "We'll find him, Kens."

"We have to, Nell." She responded quieter, concern and fear lacing her every word, as worst-case scenarios were running rampant through her head. Recollections of both the horrible event at the hands of the Russian weapons dealer and when he was taken from her and placed in danger, courtesy of Internal Affairs threatening to place him in county jail, ran through her head.

She shook her head violently, forcing the terrible thoughts out of her head. A sympathetic look from Nell and a deep breath later, she made her way out of the room and towards her operation manager's open office, hoping the powerful woman would somehow be able to find a lead or pull any favors that might help.

The tiny woman had her back turned, busy making a fresh batch of tea.

Kensi sat down in the chair opposite her operations manager, hoping for the best, but mentally prepared herself for the worst.

"Tea, dear?"

"No thank you," the agent politely declined. "Why are you keeping me here?" She then asked, thinking she might as well get right to it.

"I thought I already made that clear. You are to stay here in case Mr. Beale and Ms. Jones find any leads." She explained calmly.

Kensi gave her boss a look of disbelief, not buying that as the woman's reasoning, to why she had to stay back at the Spanish Mission. "I'm not going to stay cooped up here, Hetty." She told the elder woman defiantly.

"I wouldn't insult you by expecting you to, dear," she was quick to assure the younger woman. "But I have a feeling that Mr. Beale and Ms. Jones will find something soon, and since our team is already down a member, I can't have all three of you in the opposite side of the city, since time is of the essence."

This time she sounded more sincere, and Kensi found herself wondering whether or not that truly was the only reasoning behind her being forced to stay back at the Mission.

"Whilst we are waiting for that to happen, I want you to look through all the major cases we have worked through the last two years. See if there might be any that stands out as having people get away, family, or business partners with a potential for wanting vengeance."

"Alright," she nodded at her operations manager, happy that she now had a task to work on.

She went to her desk and flipped open her laptop, opening up one of the many folders with cases. She was focused on working through them fast, wanting to increase the odds of finding the man whom she cared most about in the entire world.

...

An assault of intense coldness awoke him from his black depths, causing him to gasp for air in a feeble attempt to overcome the shock, which the icy water that had been poured over him had caused.

"It seems you are tougher than I thought," the well-dressed man conceded. "Remember when I said I might enjoy it if you struggled? Well, I'm going to enjoy this very much," Scarface continued with a feral grin.

Before Deeks had any chance to regain composure and retort, the two goons poured yet another bucket of icy water over him. He could feel the ice cubes connect with the base of his skull, as they continued to slowly pour the near freezing liquid over him, drenching his clothes further and rapidly decreasing his core temperature, causing him to shiver.

"Whom are you working for?" The man asked, after they had finished pouring the bucket.

He tried to form words, but was caught in a loop of having to control his rapid breathing, his mind working overtime to combat the numbness the icy water had brought. Instead of answering verbally, he decided to go with a hateful glare instead.

"As you wish," the man nodded, a smirk slowly spreading across his scarred face. He signaled for the two men currently standing on either side of the shivering detective, they promptly pulled the chair backwards, tipping it, causing Deeks to slam his head against the hard concrete flooring. They made quick work of removing his shoes and socks, exposing his feet.

Deeks to a deep breath, or as deep as his already cracked rib would allow, in anticipation for the pain to come. He knew that feet were incredibly sensitive, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was coming next.

From his tied and supine position, he couldn't get a good look up towards his feet, so when the first strike landed, he was unprepared and a cry of pain escaped from his vocal chord, before he was able to suppress it.

Scarface walked slowly around the feet of the restrained detective, methodically hitting him with the wooden cane he held tightly in his hand, making sure to hit a different spot each time, as the tormentor continuously asked about whom he worked for.

Angry red welts had immediately formed on the soles of both feet, and the blond captive was no longer able to suppress any outbursts of pain. His pale face was one of anguish and tears, as the onslaught of violence continued against his bare soles.

"Which agency are you working for? Is it the FBI? CIA?" Scarface angrily asked, momentarily stopping the torture.

"I don't actually recall the name." He croaked, "It's near my precinct and they sell some really nice cream filled-"

He didn't get to show more defiance, as a yelp of despair escaped his throat. Scarface had unsheathed a knife and had broken the tender skin on Deeks' left sole, slowly dragging the sharp blade over the welts and along the entire length of the foot, causing the liaison officer to writhe in pain, clenching his teeth to overcome the need to scream aloud.

"Let's try that again, shall we?" Scarface asked the panting man rhetorically, after he was finished dragging the blade through the sensitive skin. "Which agency are you working for?"

No answer.

"You're doing this to yourself, you know," the well-dressed man laughed, as he started the dragging the reddened blade across the right sole this time.

He made sure that he used enough pressure, so that the wounds were deep enough to cause major pain, but not deep enough to risk any substantial bleeding.

This time clenching his teeth wasn't enough to suppress the outburst, as the anguished scream released from his throat, reverberating in the small, enclosed room.

"We'll give you a moment to reconsider giving us the information we want," The man stoically told him, exiting the room.

His two companions turned off the two powerful lamps, before they, too, left. The metallic sound of the door closing behind him, signaling that he was now alone.

He was lying, tied to the chair in complete darkness, pain erupting from his feet, chest, and head, as he started shivering again. The cold concrete and his still drenched clothes causing equal discomfort.

His thoughts wandered to his girlfriend, once again. He had no idea what time it was, but he was certain that the minute Kensi would find out he was taken, she would let nothing stop her before she and the team found and rescued him.

That was the thought going through his head, as the pain slowly overtook his body again, before he allowed himself to be pulled into painless unconsciousness once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for your amazing reviews on the previous chapter(!), really does mean the world to me.**

 **I've decided that _of course_ I will write about his recovery as well, but that is still a bit away (sorry-not-sorry). **

**Hope you'll enjoy the chapter, as always any and all feedback is highly appreciated!**

* * *

"What've you got, Eric?" The team lead asked, as they all converged in the technical room.

The two senior field agents had, as expected, been unable to find anything of use at the scene of the abduction, and as such, had returned to OSP in order to get a team briefing.

"Not a lot," he started, sneaking a short apologetic glance at Kensi. "I managed to follow their car for a few blocks, until they drove into an underground parking lot. They must have swapped cars in there, because I haven't seen them exit since."

"When was this?" Sam asked.

"Around ten thirty last night. I'm sorry, guys."

"It's not your fault, Eric," Kensi said, surprising everyone. "But if they left in another vehicle, that must mean that the one they arrived in is still there, right?"

"Unless they sent someone to pick it up later," Callen agreed, sensing where the female agent was headed.

"Eric, have you checked the footage for the entire night?" Sam asked, continuing his partner's train of thought.

"Only the first few hours after the SUV drove in there," the technical operator explained.

"Alright. Can you go through the entirety, only searching for the exact same car? See if they had someone pick it up," the team lead agent asked.

"Sure, I'll get right on that," he turned and started working at his station.

"Meanwhile, why don't you and Kensi go to the parking garage? Just in case the SUV is still there," Callen half-asked, half-ordered his teammates. He knew that keeping the female agent cooped in the building would eventually mean that she would go crazy and perhaps even do something, she would later regret.

"What about the cases I'm going through?" Kensi asked, not wanting to leave any investigative avenue out.

"I'll keep going through our previous cases and mark any with potential, while you guys are out," he assured his agent.

"Okay, let's go then Sam." She said, already halfway out the automatic door.

...

He woke in a similar fashion as last time he was roused from unconsciousness. The icy water slowly trickled down onto his face, making him cough and gasp for air, as he accidentally swallowed some the freezing liquid.

The coldness had gotten worse through his unwilling slumber, and he was instantly covered in goosebumps, as he shivered in response to yet another intense shock of coldness.

What he assumed to be the two goons lifted him and the chair up, so he was no longer supine on the floor. The two lights were promptly turned on, blinding him momentarily, as his eyes slowly adjusted from the pitch dark. His left eye was almost completely swollen shut after he was awoken, so it took even longer than usual for his sight to recover from the bright lights.

"So…" a voice, he recognized as belonging to Scarface, started. "Are you going to be more corporative this session?"

After he swallowed deeply in anticipation, Deeks opted out of answering the question, hoping that not giving a verbal response would somehow lessen the pain to come.

Before he had time to fully regain his vision, he was surprised to feel his restraints being undone. He briefly tried striking with his freed arm in the direction of one of the men, but given his other restraints and his weakened state, he was no match for the well-built man, who firmly grabbed his wrist to keep it in place.

When both of his wrists were freed, the men pulled his hands forward and began to tie them together. Another feeble attempt to fight the restraining was stopped by a well-placed blow to his kidney, leaving the blond detective unable to resist, as he attempted to regain control over his painful breathing.

The zip-ties around his ankles were also cut open, and the goons pulled the beaten man to his feet. A wave a pain erupted, as he was forced to put pressure on his bruised and cut soles. The pain clouded his mind, and whilst he was fighting the wave of nausea the overwhelming pain brought, he was at the mercy of the men, whom promptly secured the rope around his wrists to a fixture in the ceiling.

The position left him stretched just enough to be uncomfortable, but still able to plant his whole sole on the ground, as they wanted him to be reminded of the previous pain. The stretching also served to agitate the already injured ribs, and he squeezed his eyes shut in a feeble attempt to combat yet another wave of pain.

"Comfortable?" The man chuckled at him, "Let's try this again. Which agency are you working for?"

"I thought you claimed I was LAPD?" Deeks fired back, having regained some of his composure, even though his feet and torso felt like they were on fire.

"You are." Scarface told him coolly, "And you're also working with an agency. I want to know which."

"You're right," Deeks tried a smirk, but it was now hidden beneath his swellings. "I'm affiliated with the Creative Artists Agency."

The humorous reply was ill received, as he quickly felt on his own body, when another hard blow landed to his ribcage. He groaned loudly at the impact. The culprit had stood behind him, and Deeks had been unprepared for the connecting punch, not that he could've done anything to prevent it.

"I brought your friend here with me again," Scarface got the attention of the liaison officer, a feral smile spread on his ugly face. "Felt like you two had such a good time, so I couldn't bring myself to force you apart," he slowly dragged the tip of the wooden cane down the entire length of Deeks' body, causing him to recoil at the painful memories the weapon had brought, causing a bone chilling laugh from the well-dressed man.

"There is one problem though," the man expressed, pretending to be thinking, whilst tapping the wooden weapon against Deeks' chest. "It only _really_ hurts against bare skin," his nefarious chuckle sounded, sending another chill down his spine.

Taking that as his cue, one of the two goons snipped off his drenched, white t-shirt, revealing his normally sun-kissed skin, but due to the intense cold and beatings he had been exposed to, his skin was much more pale than usual and showed an ugly array of bruising, especially around his midsection.

He took a deep, shaky breath at what was to come.

...

"It isn't here," she stated, before yelling out into the almost empty parking garage, "Dammit!"

"Maybe it's-" Sam was interrupted by his phone ringing.

Kensi looked impatiently at her colleague, while she waited for the call to be over. "So?" she asked, after the larger agent hung up.

"That was Eric," he responded, as he started to move towards his Challenger. "He found the vehicle leaving again, and Nell managed to identify the driver as Peter Calvin. She's sent the address to us."

"Let's go then," she picked up the pace, until she was running towards the black and white vehicle, leaving her coworker to catch up.

...

They arrived at the address in record time, Sam's offensive driving had definitely paid off, as they shed more than ten minutes of the commute.

"You take the front, I'll take the back," Sam said as they approached the slightly run down building.

Once she had given her temporary partner ample time to get in position, she knocked on the front door. "Mr. Calvin, federal agent, may I have a minute, please?" She yelled through the thick, wooden door, making sure to sound as non-threatening as possible.

She heard some rummaging from inside, before she quickly realized that he must have been headed out the backdoor. As such, she rushed around the building just in time to see Sam clothesline the fleeing man, knocking all wind out of the small suspect.

"Get up," the ex-Navy SEAL angrily pulled the puny form up from the ground after securing his wrists behind the man's back.

...

During their drive to the boathouse, Kensi had scared the man to a degree, where Sam had to step in before she did something, she would later regret. Because of that, they had decided that she was to sit outside the interrogation room, whilst the two senior agents would conduct the interrogation.

Callen and Sam walked into the small room and sat across from the man, who looked increasingly skittish. Peter Calvin refused to look up at the two angry agents, fiddling with his hands in a feeble attempt to combat his growing nervousness.

"Do you know this man?" Callen started the interrogation, by sliding over a photo of Detective Marty Deeks.

After looking briefly at the photo, Calvin shook his head so fast, the two agents thought it was about to fall off, "N-n-no, I h-haven't seen him b-before," he told the agents.

"What about this car?" He slid over another photo.

"I d-don' t-think so," he stammered out.

"Really?" Sam asked incredulously, "Because we have you on camera driving it away from a parking garage earlier this morning," he continued angrily, placing yet another photograph on the table between them.

Instead of answering, the man swallowed loudly.

"See, the problem is, that the SUV in that photo, which _you_ drove, was used to kidnap one of our friends," Callen continued to put on the pressure. "Which means, that we're not too happy about the whole situation."

" _Listen_ ," Sam angrily slammed his hand into the sturdy table. "If you don't tell us where you put that car and who told you to go get it, we're going to leave and send in Kensi, and I can't promise you, what she'll do to you."

Calvin immediately lost all color in his face and started spewing all the information. "I-I-I g-got a call from my f-friend. He t-told me to p-pick up the car and d-drive it t-to a c-car crusher he knew. S-said it was r-real important." He took a deep breath, and looked almost relieved at getting the information out in the open. "I-I don't know about your f-friend, I'm s-sorry."

"What's your friend's name?" Callen pressured.

"P-please, he'll h-hurt me," Peter Calvin was almost shaking.

"If you don't tell us, _I'll_ hurt you," Sam assured him fiercely.

He swallowed deeply again. "His n-name is R-Ryan P-Powell," he deflated.

The two agents promptly left the room, the team lead already in the process of calling Eric with the newly acquired name.

...

"I must admit, I'm impressed," he said, shaking his head slightly. A crooked grin spread on his otherwise scarred face.

In front of him stood the sagging man, the only thing keeping him upright was the fixture in the ceiling, which he was securely tied to. His naked torso was bright red from the continuous assault at the hands of Scarface. Nasty welts covered the large parts of his back and stomach, and small drops of blood painted the floor as it had dripped down his body, from where the sickening impacts had broken the skin.

"Let's make it a bit more interesting, shall we?" He followed the rhetorical question with a vile chuckle.

Deeks didn't get to respond, before a blackened hood was pulled over his head, disallowing him any vision. His breathing became more erratic, as panic started to settle within the man, the fabric almost felt like it choked him as fresh air became harder to come by.

He felt the humiliation of having his drenched jeans removed, as the sounds of the otherwise sturdy fabric getting ripped apart filled the room, leaving the injured man on display, as he was unable to cover his now almost naked body.

The first strike was completely unexpected, when it connected with his left calf, causing a loud and pained roar from the man struck.

The only sign he had for the next few hits were the distinct sounds of the thin wood travelling through the air, giving him less than a fraction of a second to brace for each painful impact.

"Who. Do. You. Work. For?" Scarface asked, punctuating every word with another strike against his calves, creating more angry welts.

The uncharacteristic whimpering from underneath the black hood was the only response the suit-wearing man got, angering him further, as he was yet unable to break the shaggy detective.

After a few minutes of having the bottom part of his body continuously hit, his legs were shaking from the combination of the new pain in his calves and the prolonged suffering the weight of his body had put on his cut and bruised soles.

"You know," he started his sentence, as he hit Deeks' thigh for the umpteenth time, breaking the skin. "Even though I love the cane, I've always had a guilty pleasure for this thing," he purposely didn't mention _what_ the thing was.

Given his lack of vision, he was already incredibly jumpy and on edge, which he logically knew was _exactly_ what the culprit was aiming for. He could hear the shuffling around him, but unable to see anything, he was forced to wait for whatever the 'thing' was.

The pain erupted from his sensitive armpit, as the jolt of electricity soared through the point of impact. Scarface pressed the cattle prod against several different spots on his thighs, lower abdomen, and arms before he asked the question, which had been repeated more times than he was able to count.

"Which agency are you working for?" He questioned.

When he didn't get an immediate reply, he continued the mental terror. "You know… what I love about cattle prods is that _I_ get to control the amount of time the pain lasts. It could be a second," he pressed the device against Deeks' inner thigh. "It could be several," he pressed it against the flesh once more, but held it for longer, causing a scream from the injured man, followed by a weak sob.

He stalked around the restrained man, taking extra care as to not follow a pattern, as he continuously electrocuted him, making sure to choose different parts of his body, leaving no place untouched.

"Please, no more," he moaned through his erratic breathing. His entire body sagged and his chin rested against his chest, his legs barely able to support his weight.

"That's your choice," the man laughed. "All you have to do is tell me which agency you're working with."

"I'm not," he mumbled. "I'm not working with an agency. You got it wrong."

"I doubt that," the vile laugh continued. "See, I have a man inside the LAPD, that's how I got your name… but you see, the problem is, that every report he saw, which you'd worked on has had the name of the agency redacted from it."

If he had been more lucid, Deeks would have been enraged by the fact that a brother in blue had sold him out, but at the moment all he felt was defeat. Defeat over the fact that he was helpless, that he didn't. No. He couldn't allow himself to think like that. He had a team, a great team who he knew would stop at nothing before they had found and rescued him.

He had to fight it, had to remain resistant of the terrors the man brought upon him, but his will was weakening at an alarming rate. He knew he would never willingly give up NCIS or OSP, but he feared what was to come and whether or not he would be able to withstand it.

The tormenting shocks from the cattle prod interrupted the dark thoughts and instead replaced them with involuntary screams, as his painful expressions echoed in the tiny room.

...

"Clear!" The yell sounded throughout the property.

The agents worked fast, but meticulously, through the average looking estate. Kensi was getting increasingly frustrated by their inability to find any leads, until Sam yelled from the adjacent room.

"You guys need to take a look at this."

"What is it?" The words rushed out of the female agents' mouth, as she entered the room just behind Callen.

"Looks like cases for disposable cellphones," Callen answered before Sam had a chance.

"Yeah, and he's kept the receipt, they're all purchased in the same store, so the Wonder Twins should be able to track down the numbers," the ex-Navy SEAL pushed through.

"I'll make the call," Callen said, grabbing the receipt before he walked out the room, the phone already at his ear.

Kensi and Sam continued looking through the room until the team lead returned, but unfortunately there weren't any other things that gave them an idea of, where the suspect had gone.

"Eric found a potential lead from the phones," Callen started explaining. "They've all called one specific number numerous times over the last few weeks. He's narrowed the location to a radius of about a block in a warehouse district."

"Let's go then," Kensi said, already halfway out the door.

"Wait a minute, Kens," Callen stopped her with a calm palm to her shoulder.

"What?" She spat at the man, before she was able to reel in her emotions.

"If we go and search building to building, and they see us coming…" Callen started.

"Then they'll kill him before we get a chance to save him," Sam regretfully concluded the sentence.

Kensi took a deep breath, just because she knew they were right, didn't mean she had to like it. "We need to get back to OPS, see who owns all those buildings, it might connect it to one of the cases we have marked as potential," she said after a moment of thought.

...

The three agents quickly ascended the stairs in the Spanish Mission and walked into the technical room in hopes that the technical operator and analyst had been able to find new information regarding the warehouse district.

They were cautiously optimistic, as Nell started his briefing, "So, we tried running the owners of all the warehouses in the area, but we weren't able to match any of the owners or companies with any names from the cases you flagged."

Eric continued the briefing, "We were, however, able to hack into the security cams surrounding the area." He pressed a button and a photo popped up on the screen, "This is a picture from earlier today."

"Is that?" Sam asked.

"Ryan Powell, yes." Nell jumped in again, "There aren't enough cameras in the district to see which warehouse he went to, _but_ we were able to follow him to a separate address owned by Jonah Troyger."

"Troyger," Sam mumbled the name. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Because you've arrested his brother, Jacobus Troyger. He was later killed in prison."

"He was the one who tried to sell the botulinum toxin at an auction, right?" Sam asked.

"That's the one, yeah." Eric confirmed.

"But Deeks wasn't even working with us back then," Kensi exclaimed loudly.

The automatic doors opened. "Perhaps they are using Mr. Deeks as a means to an end," their operations manager offered, stepping deeper into the room.

"And what would that be, Hetty?" The team lead questioned.

"Vengeance, it seems, Mr. Callen." She said without showing emotion, before adding, "It would seem that Mr. Troyger does not know, that NCIS was the agency behind taking down his brother."

"But he somehow knows that Deeks works for the agency that did," Callen concluded.

Sam chimed in as well, "And he's trying to get that information from him right now."

"Would Jonah Troyger be capable of that?" Kensi questioned, not liking the feeling of what her boss had just said one bit.

It was the tiny redhead who answered the question, "According to his file, Jonah Troyger has been working as a freelance mercenary, specializing in enhanced interrogation techniques."

The chilling news that the man, whom they suspected was holding their dear friend, was specialized in torture silenced the room, as thoughts of the liaison detective's previous encounter with gruesome interrogation came to their minds.

Callen spoke up, "We need to go to that house, see if Powell is there, or if there's anything pointing to where they might be holding Deeks." He looked at the technical team, "Eric, Nell, can you check up on Troyger, see if he has any off-shore accounts, shell corporations, anything that might link him to any of the warehouses."

"We're on it," they echoed.

"Good. Let's go," he told his fellow agents.

...

The low whimpers, only interrupted by a loud gasp whenever the cane or cattle prod connected with his skin, were the only sounds in the room. Scarface slowly prowled around the injured form, always altering his route to throw off the beaten man's senses, sometimes even leaving several minutes between the next caning or shock, just in order to make the next one even more unexpected and painful.

The blond detective was sagged in the middle of the room. His shoulders were in agonizing pain as the joints carried most of his body's weight, since he was forced to keep himself on his feet, due to his arms being fixated in the ceiling.

His body was covered in a plethora of bruises, which had already started changing from red to dark purple. The markings from the cane were scattered along his entire body, littering his body with angry welts, many of them having broken the skin, causing blood to slowly dribble down his body, leaving dried lines of the crimson liquid along its' paths.

The cattle prod, too, had left its' share of marks on his body as well, dozens of red spots marked random parts of his body. Some of the places light burn marks were left, where the torturer had held the electric torture device for longer.

The combination of the all the damage had left the man whimpering, sacrificing his overall appearance of toughness for momentary strength, which he could draw on whenever he needed it to resist the continuous questioning.

"Is your team _really_ worth all this pain?" Scarface asked incredulously, as he prowled around the beaten man.

"Go to hell," he croaked at the man.

The weak outrage caused another one of the suit-wearing man's vile chuckles, which by that moment was enough to make Deeks' stomach churn.

"You know," he started one of his taunting sentences. "I really would like to continue our little… play session." He took slow, meticulous steps towards the sagging form, "I really, _really_ like new toys, but I've found that if you play too much with them, they… break." He simulated a twig snapping with his hands, even though the beaten man couldn't see it.

"So as much as it hurts me to say, I think you and I might need to take a small break… after all, we're not really in a hurry, are we?" He chuckled. "But with that said, we can't have you getting _too_ comfortable here, that's why," he clapped twice, as his two henchmen came into the room, carrying a small, wooden box. "We have this great accommodation for you," he gestured to the box.

The hood that had covered his eyes was pulled off and the box in question stood in front of him. He was barely able to see it as his bloodshot eye slowly adjusted to the bright lights in the room, his left eye had swollen completely shut disallowing any vision, so the process of adjusting took even longer than it usually would.

The wooden structure was barely half his height in length and seemed to be just wide enough for his muscular stature. Even through his hazy mind, courtesy of the beatings, he quickly realized, what was about to happen.

"Although it doesn't have an exact name," he started his taunt. "The box is mostly known as 'The Syrian Torture Box.' Its' cramped space is used on enemies of the Syrian state, and I've found the method to be particularly effective," he chuckled nefariously.

"Please don't," he begged the men, not caring anymore that it made him seem weak.

The three men merely laughed in his face, as the two goons tied his legs together at both his ankles and knees, before they cut the rope from his wrists, causing the injured detective to slump to the floor, as neither of the culprits bothered to break his fall, instead choosing to laugh louder at his misfortune.

The momentary relief of not having his shoulders fixated upwards was quickly taken from him, as they roughly pulled his arms behind his back, before tying his hands tightly behind his back.

The two goons lifted the man in preparation to place him in the tight box, but he somehow managed to draw strength enough to fight them, managing to kick one of them weakly. In response, they both released him, making him slam hard into the concrete floor, knocking the wind out of him.

After several well placed kicks to the defenseless man's ribcage, he was wheezing for air, as the impacts had cracked yet another rib.

They squeezed him into the incredibly cramped space, immediately making all his different joints ache at the uncomfortable position he was forced into in order to fit.

Just before the lid closed, Scarface leaned down so close that Deeks was able to feel his sickening warm breath on his face. With the same sickening sweet voice he had originally awoken the unconscious man with, he told him, "I really enjoyed our time together, Marty Deeks. Can't wait for us to continue."

And with that parting comment, they put the lid on the box, leaving him without any possibility of movement or sight, as the feeling of claustrophobia quickly engulfed his every sense.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading(!). I don't want to ask if it was 'too much,' but I will ask for your thoughts on the whole thing.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for the absolutely insane support on this story! It has honestly blown me away.**

* * *

They were watching the extravagant estate from the safety of their black SUV, as they found themselves parked further up the avenue, the tinted windows adding to their anonymity, as they continued to watch the front entrance for any movement.

The seasoned agents had been on countless stakeouts, but the seriousness of the case hung thick in the air and the tension was palpable. On the backseat, the female agent was getting increasingly fidgety. Normally she would have nothing but patience in situations mirroring the one they were currently in, but the thoughts of her boyfriend's almost certain suffering didn't allow for any of her usual composure.

"Why aren't we going in?" She asked, frustration clearly evident in her voice.

"It's best to take them as they're coming or leaving, you know that, Kensi." Callen tried appealing to her logic, looking over his shoulder to make eye contact in order to gauge her reaction.

"But while we sit here and do _nothing_ , Deeks is out there having," her harsh voice cracked. "Having to deal with whatever that monster is doing to him," she croaked the last part of the sentence.

"But if we go in and no one is there… it might spook them," Callen argued.

"Or," she raised her voice. "They could already be in there, and we're wasting valuable time."

"Kensi-"

"There could be something to point us to the right warehouse," she interrupted her team leader. "We can't just be sitting here doing nothing, Callen."

"We don't have to," Sam interrupted the argument between his coworkers.

"What?" Kensi snapped.

"Two men, eleven o'clock," Sam nodded in the direction of the house, which both Callen and Kensi had neglected looking at during their somewhat heated argument.

Kensi immediately moved her piercing gaze away from the team lead, so she could see the two potential culprits. They were moving away from the large estate and towards a dark Mercedes parked just outside. Neither of them looked like Ryan Powell or Jonah Troyger.

"Let's go then," Kensi was ready to open the door, wanting to apprehend the suspected affiliates of Deeks' capturers.

"Wait," Sam called aloud, stopping her in her tracks.

"Neither Powell or Troyger is with them," Callen stated, sounding somewhat disheartened.

"They're getting in their car. We can follow them, they might lead us to where they are or where they're holding Deeks," the larger agent reasoned.

"Do it," their team lead ordered, as Kensi reluctantly sat back down into her seat.

Logically, she knew that they could not allow taking any chances, but her emotional turmoil didn't allow her to _not_ do anything.

...

"Don't lose them," Kensi ordered exasperatingly.

"I won't," his gruff reply sounded, before he immediately realized that answering in an equally annoyed tone would do nothing to help alleviate the tension.

"But they're getting away."

"No they are not," he countered, using a calm voice this time.

"But you barely have them in your line of sight," she argued, sounding more and more agitated.

"It's called giving them ample space," the larger agent replied, continuing his calm demeanor.

"Well give them less," she chastised, annoyance clear in her voice.

"I know how to run a tail," he finally let some of his irritation through again.

"They're our only lead to where Deeks is, and if you lose them, I swear to god I-"

"Kensi," Callen warningly interrupted her sentence.

"Right," she attempted to control her emotions, taking a deep sigh. "Sorry," she apologized.

"I want to find him too, Kens," he told her softly.

"I know, it's just…" the sentence drifted off.

"I know, Kensi. I know," he assured her, when she couldn't find any more words.

His facial expression had softened at her short attempt at an explanation. He cared for the man as well. He and the detective had figured out their differences in the dark wake of the Sidorov case, but even despite that newfound connection, he could hardly fathom what Kensi was going through. Deeks was not only her partner and friend, but also her lover, and that additional level of compassion between two people meant a world of difference in how one handled situations like the one, the team currently found themselves in.

Kensi managed not to make any additional comments in regards to the tail Sam ran. Instead of voicing her annoyance, the female agent had continuously shifted in her seat for the remaining ten-minute ride, much to the annoyance of her fellow agents. They, however, had not mentioned it aloud, knowing that their colleague would be unable to be calm until they had securely recovered her partner and boyfriend.

They pulled up at the end of the road, still keeping distance to where the marked vehicle had pulled up. The two men Sam had expertly been following exited their vehicle and walked towards the house they had parked in front of. With its' seemingly newly painted façade and two stories, the house was well above average, but still nothing in comparison to the extravagant estate, which they had been seen exiting earlier.

After a minute of observation, another vehicle pulled up behind the dark Mercedes and out jumped another two men.

"That's Ryan Powell, right there," Sam pointed out, as he was using a pair of binoculars. "Don't know who the other guy is."

"Can we go now, then?" Kensi asked. She was still obviously agitated, but managed to ask in a much nicer tone than previously.

"Yeah. Let's go," Callen said after checking over his weapon one last time.

...

The darkness surrounded him, but unlike the last time, he didn't find any rest in the realm of unconsciousness. In fact, he found no rest at all. His entire body was aching due to the plethora of previous strikes, canings, and the shocking, as well as the painful position his body was forced into in order to fit into his claustrophobic prison.

He tried pushing the lid of the tiny, wooden prison with his shoulder, but was unable to make it move, quickly giving up as he realized that it must have been locked from the outside.

His knees were pulled abnormally close to his chin, aggravating his already cracked and bruised ribs, making oxygen an almost scarcity, his ability to breathe regularly was overtrumped by the pressure on his lungs. The pressure his ribs were exerting on his lungs combined with the mild panic he was feeling in the extremely confined space was ensuring that he was constantly on the verge of hyperventilating.

Since he was no longer being abused physically, or at least wasn't taking any beating, his other senses were able to take over. His hearing sharpened, making him flinch any time a car screech, a clang sounded, or any other immediate noise came, fearing that it might mean the arrival of his tormentors once more.

The metallic smell of blood assaulted his nostrils, a constant reminder of the crimson pool he had seen beneath him, when the men had removed his black hood. The smell forced him to fight nausea and he was suddenly almost appreciative that he hadn't eaten in what seemed like an eternity.

Even though his body was unable to register specific places from where pain erupted, he was easily able to localize and feel the tickling of slow moving dribbles of blood, from where the caning welts had broken the skin, causing involuntary shivers throughout his whole body, which only added to his pain due to the confinement.

His hypersensitive senses led to a heightened state of consternation, which disallowed him any focus for extended periods of time, essentially leaving him unable to use his previous detachment strategy of thinking of Kensi in vivid detail, thoughts that usually ranged from certain joy filled moments they had shared together, to her specific characteristics such as her smile and laugh.

The realization that his main coping mechanism was currently unavailable to him was his undoing. He began to quietly sob, tears rolling down his bruised and cut cheeks, finally letting out some of the agony that he had been desperate to keep hidden from his tormentors.

...

They moved quickly towards the estate in a line, one after another, Sam leading the silent encroachment, his rifle pointed steadily forward, as they moved through the backyard of the neighboring house.

"Remember, no identifying NCIS, only yell 'federal agents' if necessary," Callen reminded his two teammates.

Hetty had, after some thought, rationalized that her team was not to wear the usual bulletproof vests where the agency's initials were written in large letters across the chest, instead she had told them to wear some of the non-identifying protective gear instead. She reasoned that _if_ the reason that Mr. Deeks had been taken was indeed to determine which agency he was working for, he would no longer be of need if they gave that information away through their raid, and as such, could be the cause of his death.

They were quickly stacked at the door, having moved unseen through the yard of the house and around to the front. Kensi had peeked through the windows and informed her team that it seemed like the four men, which they had spotted exiting vehicles, were the only ones currently in the house.

Just as Callen padded his partner's shoulder, signaling him to breach, they heard a sound coming towards them from inside the house. Kensi informed them that the small group inside had moved in different direction, before she quickly took a few steps back, ensuring that they covered the entrance from multiple angles.

The door opened and a man stepped out with a smoke in hand. Luckily, he was alone, and somehow incredibly unaware of his surroundings, as he managed to take a few steps past the two agents hunkered next to the door without noticing either of them. The ex-Navy SEAL capitalized on the opportunity, by silently taking down the suspect, through a rear naked choke, rendering the man unconscious after a few seconds.

After securing the unconscious man with zip ties, the team silently moved through the front door. They entered the hall, which had doors on either side as well as a staircase, as such, the three agents split up. Sam veered towards the left, Callen towards the right, and Kensi stayed put in the room, covering the stairs and ready to back either of her teammates up.

"Federal agent," she heard Sam's deep voice, quickly followed by two familiar sounding gunshots that she recognized to be from a SIG.

"You good?" She yelled, not wanting to stop covering the stairs in case the remaining suspects tried to escape.

"Yeah," he yelled back. "Clear."

A few seconds later, Callen called from the other side, echoing his partner, "Clear."

The senior agents joined her in the large hall once again, and they made their way towards the stairs. Just as they were about to ascend the first steps, one of the suspects peaked from above, but before he was able to pull the trigger on his weapon, he received two bullets center mass, dropping him instantly, as he fell over the railings of the interior balcony.

Kensi went to the downed man, kicking away his gun, before crouching down to check his pulse. Upon not finding the sign of life, she shook her head and quickly moved back to her team, so they could continue to sweep the premises.

They continued up the wooden staircase until they found themselves on the second story, quickly ensuring that the lounge-esque area was secure.

"Federal agents, put down your weapons," Callen yelled, as Ryan Powell slowly approached them from the connecting hallway, carrying a pistol along the side of his body.

Unsurprisingly, they received no response to the order, somehow anyone wielding a gun seemed extremely displeased to part with it, even if they were outnumbered and outgunned. The resigned look on the Powell's face, quickly made Kensi realize that the man in front of them was looking to commit suicide by cop.

She couldn't let someone, who potentially knew the location of her captured boyfriend die before she had gotten that information. Making a decision, she took aim and shot the man through the thigh, making him drop his weapon as he howled in pain.

"He was about to aim at us," she said stoically, daring anyone to challenge what she had just done.

"I know," Callen replied, as he kicked away the handgun from the downed foe before restraining him. "Sam," he looked at his partner, before he nodded towards the hallway.

Sam took the hint and went to ensure that there were no others in the remaining rooms, before finally confirming it. "All clear," he told them as he reentered the overlook.

"Eric we need an ambulance," the team leader told the technical operator through his earwig.

"We can't let him go to the hospital," Kensi argued exasperatingly. "Deeks doesn't have that time," she looked pleadingly at Callen, hoping to convince him.

He nodded at her, knowing that she was reasonable in her request, "Eric, make sure the EMTs just patch him up quickly and bring him to the boatshed."

"Thank you," she told him. "I'll grab the other guy," she notified them, as she walked down towards the other living suspect, to see if he had regained consciousness.

...

He had no idea for how long he had been in his own private, cramped hell, when he finally heard footsteps close by. His breathing stopped as he heard the door opening, confirming that the person was coming for him, his heartbeat galloping away at such a rate, that he was sure, whoever was approaching could hear it. He hadn't been sobbing when the sound rattled him, he simply had not had any tears left for that.

He heard someone fiddling with the lock to his personal prison and the blood in his veins turned to ice. The lid slowly crept off the box and light started pouring in, momentarily blinding the beaten detective as his right eye slowly started to adjust.

When he finally regained his sight, he saw the nasty face of his tormenter smiling down upon him, sending a whole new wave of nausea through his body, as the slim hope that it had been his rescuers dissipated.

"Hi Marty, did you miss me?" He chuckled nefariously.

"N-not particularly," the injured man croaked after a moment, the predicament of his contortion made it incredibly hard for him to find his voice.

The response caused another chuckle from Scarface, "Good. Now let's get you out of that box… at least for a little while."

A different man lifted him up ever so slightly, his body heavy as he had no energy to remain standing by himself. When the man had raised him enough to clear the edge of the box, he pushed the injured man forward. With his hands tied behind his back, Deeks had no way to break the fall, as the back of his skull collided with the concrete flooring sending rippling pain throughout his body.

"Are you ready to talk this time?" The suit-wearing man asked him.

Deeks attempted a defying gaze, but due to his facial injuries it turned out more like a grimace.

"Right," Scarface responded, apparently his grimace was enough to get the point of non-cooperation across. "It seems that we have to get through it then, don't we?" He nodded to the brute in the room, who quickly left the room.

When he didn't receive any immediate beating, Deeks got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had no clue what was coming, except for the part that it would be incredibly uncomfortable if not downright painful. But since he was out of the dark, confined crate and actually had a tangible threat in front of him instead of his inner fears, he started attempting to focus on the best part of his life once more, Kensi.

He heard the door open once more, signaling the arrival of whatever misery he had to endure. It quickly became clear, when the large lackey placed two large jugs of water next to him alongside a small towel.

He looked pleadingly at Scarface, who was towering over him. "Please don't do this," he begged.

"Then talk," the man replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"I-I can't," the defeated voice of the detective replied, just above a whisper.

It would be so easy just to utter the word. Say four initial and get rid of all the pain, but he couldn't turn on his colleagues… his family.

"Very well," he nodded to the brute, who started soaking the towel in some of the water.

His breathing quickened, at the anticipation of the horror to come. He knew that he had to remain calm, but found that he was no longer able to follow that advice, as the man towering above him had instilled his entire body with dread.

He drew out one last breath before the brute pulled the soaked cloth around his mouth, nose and eyes. He held tightly at both ends of the towel, disallowing their prisoner any significant head movement.

The first few drops were teasing, Scarface marking his dominance over his helpless victim, like an animal playing with their doomed prey before finally sinking its' teeth into it. The scarred man finally took that bite, tipping the jug further and pouring water over the sprawling detective's face, the liquid a constant stream of agony, as oxygen became a scarcity, causing him to battle the sensation of drowning.

His nose and lungs burned, when the cloth was finally lifted. He had no idea how long they had been pouring the water, probably no more than fifteen seconds, but it had felt like hours.

"Ready to talk?" Scarface asked almost indifferently.

A shaky breath was his only reply.

Taking that as his cue, the brute once again held the towel tightly over his face and the water started pouring, repeating the process of anguish.

...

The team had split up into the two interrogation rooms at the boatshed. Kensi was trying to get any information out of the unknown culprit, whom Sam had rendered unconscious, whilst the two senior agents were in with Ryan Powell.

"I need to go to a hospital," the detained man demanded.

"You will once you've told us what we want to know," Callen answered stoically.

"I need to go to the hospital _now_ ," he tried more angrily.

"You've been seen by a paramedic," the team leader shot down his request.

"I want my lawyer," he tried changing his demand.

Callen smiled at him and leaned over the table, "Have you heard of a thing called The Patriot Act?" He asked smugly.

"That's only for terrorists," Ryan Powell huffed.

"And associates of terrorists," Callen corrected. "And since you're working with Jonah Troyger, _you_ have waived your rights as a US citizen."

"With who?" Powell asked.

"You know damn well who," Sam angrily broke his silence, visibly startling the man sitting across from him.

"Tell us where he's keeping Detective Deeks, and maybe we won't ship you off to Guantanamo," Callen threatened, still keeping his voice stoic.

"You can't do that," he responded exasperatingly.

"Maybe not," Callen shrugged. "But how long will it take to correct the mistake? Six months? A year? Perhaps more."

"You can't do that," he continued the exasperating tone, but the agents did notice a slight quiver in his voice.

"Watch me," Callen said, staring challengingly at him.

"I'm not a terrorist," he claimed loudly.

"Then prove it by telling us where Troyger keeps Detective Deeks," Sam challenged.

"And if I don't?" He asked.

"I heard Gitmo's nice this time of year," the ex-Navy SEAL shrugged nonchalantly, following the lead of his partner perfectly.

He looked uncertainly at the two agents sitting across from him, "If I tell you where he is, I won't go to Gitmo."

"You have our word," Callen assured him.

"And I get to go to the hospital," he added another demand.

"As soon as we have secured Detective Deeks," Sam stated, his voice leaving no room for disagreement.

"Alright," Powell conceded after a shaky breath.

He gave them an address, which Eric promptly confirmed was within the area they had narrowed Deeks' location down to previously. They quickly got Kensi out of her interrogation room, since there was no longer any other information she could get that would be of equal importance.

Together, the three agents drove towards the address, determination clear in their expressions.

...

"Tell me who you're working for," Scarface demanded harshly.

"N-no one," he croaked sobbingly, the words burning as they left his throat.

Once again, the ruthless tormentor had been impressed by the injured man, most people would have given up any information after a few doses of waterboarding, yet the broken man was steadfast on keeping his secret. An admirable trait, the man recognized, but smiled to himself at the challenge of extracting said secret.

It wasn't often that he had a fighter, a _real_ fighter, whom would do anything to protect whoever it was that he or she was protecting. No, they would most always break within the first few sessions, which meant a short playtime for him. This time, however, he was determined to draw it out over a lengthy period, and it seemed that the detective was unknowingly enabling him to do that.

"Maybe you need a bit more time in the box to figure out your answer," he spoke in a nauseatingly soft voice.

Deeks shook his head slightly, making sure to keep the rest of his body as still as possible, since the tiniest of movements were painful. "I-I know my answer," he forced the words out.

"And?" Scarface pushed, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice at the thought that his playtime might be over.

He released a shaky breath, pushing past the lump in his throat as tears started to form in his eyes, "I-I d-don't work f-for anyone."

"See, I know that you're lying," he didn't even sound angry, almost relieved, actually. "But since you're adamant on being untruthful, we seem to find ourselves in a bit of a predicament here… I think maybe you _do_ need some time to ponder your choices." He had a feral grin on his lips.

"From my experience, The Syrian Torture Box always makes people reconsider their choices. It apparently just takes a little while longer for some of its' patrons," he continued the mental abuse.

"P-please don't," the injured man pleaded, but it fell upon deaf ears, as Scarface's brute dragged him over to the wooden box by his feet.

The man attempted to pick up the damaged form by himself, but dead weight is hard to control, and as such, he looked upon his boss for some assistance. With a deep sigh, the well-dressed man dirtied his hands, as he helped lift the man, who was now grunting in pain.

"He's actually crying," Scarface chuckled, as they forced Deeks into the cramped box once more, "Isn't it adorable?" He asked patronizingly.

Deeks hardly heard the condescending words uttered, as a combination of pain and panic started taking over his entire being once more.

He only recognized the villainous laughter, as the two men slowly pulled the lid over the torturously small box. As he heard the recognizable clang of the padlock being locked, he gave in and the darkness overtook his thoughts once more.

Breathing was even harder the second time around, courtesy of the burning in his throat and lungs after the harrowing experience with the waterboarding. As he lay in the box, his joints already excruciating, his thoughts went to his team. He had no idea how long he had been the lunatic's captive, but long enough for doubt to finally having taken root in his mind.

As he became increasingly sure that his team would be unable to find and rescue him, he finally gave in to the despair. Tears flowed down his eyes, one bloodshot and one swollen shut, yet both surprisingly still having tears left to shed.

* * *

 **I'm sorry anonkp; he's still in the box.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so, os much for the absolutely mindblowing support on this story. I honestly did not expect it given the nature of what is being written. Anyways, I hope that you'll all enjoy this next installment.**

 **All the best, Cape**

* * *

It was starting to grow dusk outside, and as such, the traffic had picked up significantly since the last time they had been driving, and because of the increase of vehicles on the road, their travel was significantly slowed. The agents fumed at being caught in the ending of rush hour, the delay in travel adding to the already palpable tension in the vehicle.

Kensi managed to bite back any criticism about Sam's driving, knowing that with the way he was weaving in and out of lanes, he was doing everything in his power to make their way through traffic as fast as possible.

When they were just over halfway there, Callen's phone started to ring.

"You're on speaker, Eric," he didn't bother with a greeting, in case it was time sensitive.

"Right. We've just got a hit on Kaleidoscope, it seems Troyger and one other guy are leaving the warehouse district right now, we'll following him on traffic cameras, but I can't guarantee that I won't lose him." He explained the agents, in the slightly awkward, half-rushed way that only Eric can explain things.

"What car is he driving?" Kensi asked, surprising the two senior agents.

"Uhm, a silver grey Jaguar, it looks like the five doors," Eric answered.

"He wouldn't dare to drive with Deeks in such a car at this hour," Kensi explained more to the agents than the technical operator.

"No he wouldn't," Sam agreed.

"Okay," the team lead nodded. "Eric see if you can keep following him, if he stops, I want you send a tactical team to his location. We'll still go to the address of the warehouse, hopefully Troyger leaving means that Deeks is there alone right now."

"Okay, I'll call you with any updates," Eric said before ending the call.

The traffic was still moving at a snail's pace, giving the female agent further time for intrusive thoughts to wander through her head. Vivid images from when she and Granger had rescued Sam and her not-quite boyfriend back then cluttered her mind, the picture of the beaten and defeated man sitting tied to a metal chair came back all too clearly. A knot started to form in her stomach at the thoughts of the aftermath of the torture he had endured, the physical wounds had been beyond rough, and the unprofessional dentistry had been horrific, but it had still been the psychological aspect, which had been the worst.

She did not, however, let herself believe that he was gone, no. Even though she wasn't a religious person, she somehow _knew_ that she would have felt something if that was the case.

Having convinced herself that the man she loved was alive alleviated some of the tension in her body, but soon thoughts wandered back to the psychological aspects of what he had endured. Last time, she had been forced out of Deeks' life for several months following the horrible event, as she had allowed herself to be pushed away from the man whom she cared the most about, as he turned into a hermit. She knew that their relationship had progressed a lot since then, but she made him a silent promise that she would never leave his side through his recovery.

...

He knew that he couldn't have been in the wooden box for long, but his mind had already started drifting towards a panicky state once more. His eyes had dried up for the moment, as he couldn't find the strength to continue the otherwise cathartic release, since it strained his breathing too much. The pain in his lungs he had felt during his last confinement had worsened. Due to the fact that he had been drowning over and over, his throat, nose, and lungs felt like they were on fire, which only added to his already troubled breathing.

He tried moving in the little space he had, but since his hands were tied behind his back, he could hardly shift in the cramped space. After a minute of battling for increased comfortability, he gave up on it and closed his eyes, resigning himself to having to endure the slowly increasing pain in his joints.

Every time his thoughts started to wonder towards happier places, he would be pulled out of the dream-like state by some noise, rattling him with the fear that Scarface and his lackey had already returned, which left him in a constant state of increased anxiety.

...

Back in OPS, the two technical geniuses were busy at work, following the luxurious Jaguar on multiple screens from their high tech cave.

"You still got them?" Nell asked her partner in crime.

"Yup, they've just turned off Imperial Highway," he confirmed. "You getting anything off of facial rec?"

"Not yet," she sighed. "But I really can't speed up the process any more than I've already done."

"Why don't you-?"

"Look up known associates of Troyger," she interrupted him. He stood slightly flabbergasted, but smiling, still impressed that they could somehow always finish each other's sentences. "Good idea," she told him with a wink, causing him to blush.

In that moment, the doors opened and in stepped their operations manager, "Mr. Beale, Ms. Jones, any updates?"

"Callen, Sam, and Kensi are making their way to the address they got from Ryan Powell, hopefully Deeks will be there," he informed his boss, his voice faltering slightly at the mention of his missing friend.

Nell continued the short briefing, maintaining their trend of tag-teaming any updates, "We're also following Troyger through traffic cameras. Trying to get a hit on his passenger, but so far no luck."

"Good work," the elderly woman told them. "Make sure that we have an ambulance on standby if Deeks indeed is in that warehouse."

"Done and done," Eric assured her, before Hetty left the room again, most likely to brew some calming tea and follow the case from her own monitor.

...

Now only two blocks away from the address they had been given, Kensi and Callen started to prepare their rifles. They wanted to be able to go straight into the building upon arrival, as any time between them being spotted and them entering the building could mean the departure of their friend and partner.

"One block. Get ready." Sam told his teammates, more serious than Kensi had ever heard him before.

Kensi clutched her weapon, her knuckles turning white at the force. She attempted a few deep breaths to calm her nerves, but deep down inside she knew that the only thing able to calm her would be to see her boyfriend.

The ex-Navy SEAL pulled over just before they made it to the warehouse, as they wanted to close the last, short distance on foot. They exited the car and instantly started moving towards the offending building, wasting no time in clearing their surroundings.

Lining up at the door, Callen counted down, "On three, okay? One…two…three."

The team leader opened the door, allowing both Sam and Kensi in before he silently closed it behind them. The building was completely dark inside, prompting the agents to turn on the flashlights connected to their weapons.

They split up to cover more, before moving methodically along the wide room and in between the different shelving units. It was clear that the warehouse had been out of commission for quite a long time, metallic flakes and dust had settled on all the aluminum racks, causing it to glisten slightly whenever a cone of light drifted over it.

At the end of the large room were three metal doors, she was about to enter the middle one, when she noticed that the one on the far right was the only one of them which had a padlock connected to it.

"Guys, I've got something here," Kensi whispered, knowing they would easily be able to hear her through their earwigs.

Her two fellow agents moved swiftly towards her, still making sure to check their flanks for any unwanted guests. Upon their arrival she gestured silently at the lock, which kept them from entering the room.

The larger agent looked searchingly around them, until his attached flashlight settled on what looked to be a rusty brick hammer a few meters away. He picked up the object and secured his weapon before moving it behind his back, so he could use his full strength. After his coworkers had taken a large step backwards, he flung the hammer against the metal, luckily managing to break the shackle out of the locking bar.

...

He was brought out of his thoughts by a loud banging, instantly putting him on edge to the point where he was trembling in fear of what the sound might mean for him. His breathing started becoming more erratic and tears started to form in his eyes.

He heard someone yell into the room, but he was far too delirious to decipher the exact words in question. He was, however, able to hear the footsteps in the room, at the realization that there were multiple footsteps, a knot formed in his stomach, he knew they were taking their time for him to 'prepare'.

After a short moment of only being able to hear the footsteps around him, he heard a loud bang, causing his tear-filled eyes to finally flow over. It had been the same sound he had heard previously, albeit much louder this time. Another metal-on-metal strike sounded, causing him to whimper in fearful anticipation.

The lid opened and white light streamed into the box, blinding his only working eye, causing him to try and hide his head towards the bottom of the box. "P-please d-don't h-hurt me any…anymore," his voice quivered, barely recognizable to the agents in the room.

"Son of a bitch," Sam exclaimed.

"Eric we need an ambulance, _now_ ," Callen ordered through his earwig.

"Help me get him up," Sam told Callen, and together the two men lifted the trembling man from the box, the move making him groan in pain before they placed him gently on the cold concrete floor, since they lacked any better options.

As he lay on the floor, they were finally able to see the damage inflicted to the man, whom they all cared deeply about. His face was severely bruised, his left eye swollen shut, and there were several semi-deep cuts alongside his cheekbones and forehead.

He was wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, the previously white cloth was stiff and dark red from blood that had dribbled down onto it. His torso and legs bore a plethora of bruises, welts, and what the agents thought to be burn marks. Many of the welts had broken the skin, the dried crimson red color a stark contrast to the many dark contusions.

The gruesome sight before her had knocked all wind out of her, and she already had tears flowing down her soft cheeks. She dropped down on both her knees next to him, not caring about the pain the impact with the concrete caused. She reached for him, but her gentle touch was met with a flinch, as if she had just burned him.

"Deeks it's me… it's Kensi," she told the sobbing man softly, her voice trembling as she attempted to keep her calm. "You're safe, we've got you," she continued.

He was not hearing any of the soothing words, as he continuously repeated the short sentences, "P-please no more," and "I d-don't work f-for anyone."

While Kensi attempted to deal with the mental first-aid, Sam and Callen took their time scouting the room, in it they found a decently sized pool of crimson liquid beneath a fixture in the ceiling, giving them some information as to what might have happened. Continuing the search of the room, they both audibly inhaled at the sight of two large, empty jugs with a cloth thrown unceremoniously over it, surrounded by a pool of clear water. Their collective anger rose even further, as both men dreaded what their liaison detective had had to have gone through.

Unable to get through to the man, Kensi grabbed her father's knife from her belt and promptly cut the bindings from his wrist, causing Deeks to instantly pull his hands close to his chest in fear of being restrained once more, as he had yet to realize it was his team who surrounded him.

She moved down his body and cut the bindings around his knees and feet, liberating the injured man from the hem rope. As soon as he was freed from his bonds, he curled further up into fetal position, still not entirely convinced that this was all a cruel ploy to terrorize him further.

Seeing that the injured blond continued to shake, she took of her bulletproof vest, followed by hear leather jacket, which she tenderly laid spread over his naked torso, covering most of his legs also, thanks to the position he was in.

She wanted nothing more than to look into his beautiful, ocean blue eyes to try and give some comfort, but he continued to keep his back to her, his chin tucked securely against his chest, in a subconscious attempt to appear as small as possible.

"Deeks, you're safe now," she tried again, now that he was unrestrained. "It's me… It's Kensi."

"K-Kens?" He sniffled through his sobbing.

"Yeah, it's me." She told him, before attempting to gently place her hand on his shoulder. She felt him stiffen beneath her touch, but he didn't pull away this time, after a moment she could feel his tense muscles start to relax ever so slightly, as she continued to draw circles with her thumb, whilst mumbling soothing nonsense to him.

"Y-You shouldn't b-be here," he told her suddenly, his voice trembling with fright that Scarface would return to torment her as well.

"We're safe, Marty," she deliberately used his first name, knowing she didn't use it often, but when she did, she made it count. " _You're_ safe."

"Safe?" He croaked disbelievingly at the word, his broken voice pulling at her heartstrings.

"Yeah, you're safe now," she confirmed.

She looked at her two colleagues, who were staring at the beaten detective, their expressions sad and concerned, but she could see the burning anger beneath. "When's the ambulance here?" She asked them.

"Any minute now," Callen answered softly.

She felt his muscles instantly tense at the sound of the male voice, and turned her attention back to her boyfriend. "It's okay Marty… It's just Callen and Sam, no one is going to hurt you anymore, okay?"

"O-okay," he finally managed to stutter out through his shaky voice.

They could start to hear a siren in the distance, and all assumed, and hoped, that it was the much needed ambulance for their beaten friend, Sam signaled that he would go out to wait for them, making sure to do so wordlessly, as he, too, had picked up on Deeks' tension upon hearing Callen's voice.

Kensi continued to murmur nonsensical things to him, as the sound of her voice seemed to have a soothing effect on him. The trembling had somewhat subsided, as he tried to focus on the voice he knew and loved, its warmth bringing forth a faint hope that it was all over.

She heard Sam ordering someone around in the distance, and relief washed over her at the thought the paramedics had finally arrived to care for her boyfriend. Knowing his agitated state in mind, she started preparing him, "Marty, the EMTs are on their way, they'll have to move you, so you can go to the hospital, okay?"

Upon seeing a small nod, she continued, "I know you don't really like other voices right now, but they won't hurt you. Can you try and answer their questions, please?"

Another small nod.

"Good, that's good. Thank you," she told him. "Here they are," she informed him of the men's arrival to the room.

She felt him tense underneath her touch once again, when he was able to hear the new voices enter the room.

As she moved away from him to give the paramedics room to work, his trembling increased tenfold. He started to sob uncontrollably, as fear of being at the mercy of someone else overtook him.

Kensi chastised herself for parting from him, and quickly moved back to his side, murmuring assurances into his ear, as her hand tenderly moved up and down his arm. She felt him slowly relax once more, and as such, she nodded to the paramedics, who had taken a step back.

The trained medical professionals worked around the woman at his side, and were quickly ready to get the timid man onto the gurney. Even though he had wordlessly told Kensi that he would answer the men's questions, he had been unable to find his voice, causing all answers to be through a slight head movement. The EMTs had done an amazing job by adapting their inquiries to only include 'yes' or 'no' questions.

"Kens?" He called his weak voice searched for her, fear evident in his voice.

She was already at his side, but instead of grabbing the gurney, she grabbed a hold of his hand, "I'm right here, Marty. I'm not leaving you."

The word 'again' floated through her mind, as flashbacks to the previous time her strong and confident partner had been abused by the hands of a maniac. That time she had been forced to leave him, it didn't matter to her that it was a case of national security, no, she had left the best part of her life tied to that chair, even though he had begged her to free him. She was steadfast on never making that mistake twice, and as such, gave his hand a supportive squeeze to let him know she was still there, since she was not sure how lucid he currently was.

He squeezed back weakly in appreciation, bringing forth a tearful smile on the female agent, as she moved alongside the gurney back out through the building and towards the ambulance.

...

"Which hospital are they bringing Mr. Deeks to?" A voice behind them asked, startling both the technical geniuses.

They had been so fixated on the anguished, mostly one-sided conversation Kensi had had with her partner to notice that their operations manager had entered into the technical room.

"Cedars-Senai Medical Center, I'm pretty sure." Nell managed to croak out without looking at the elder woman. She was still staring intently at the screen showing footage from the traffic camera, where the ambulance should soon be making an appearance. Her lip quivered as she tried to control her emotions.

"I know that what you have just heard was quite disturbing," their operations manager acknowledged their emotional turmoil. "But I need you two to help coordinate the tactical team, in order to get the bastard who did this to our Mr. Deeks."

"Yeah of course. No, we, uhm, we can do that," Eric was the first to regain composure and assure his boss, too stupefied to pick up on the first swear word he had ever heard coming form his boss' mouth.

"Good," she nodded. "I will make a call to Director Vance and Owen to inform them of what has happened."

After the operations manager left, Eric looked concernedly at his coworker, "Are you okay?"

"Not really," she admitted somewhat bashfully, as she blinked to keep the tears from coming.

He pulled his pixie-like coworker into a tight hug. "Yeah… Me neither," he responded after a deep sigh.

...

She was sitting in the back of the ambulance, holding his hand tight, as if he could be ripped away from her at any time. She watched his chest's rhythmical rise and fall, needing the constant reminder that he was still with them, even though the man she had seen back in the dreaded warehouse was only a shell of his former self. But she steadfastly believed that since the shell was mostly intact, they could help the man recover what had been damaged and broken within. She had to believe that.

It hadn't taken long for him to drift off into drug-filled hibernation, as the older of the paramedics had given him some morphine to dull his pain. There wasn't a whole lot for the EMTs to do, seeing as his injuries were mostly superficial contusions or small wounds where the skin had broken, and as such, it either didn't require any immediate attention, or it wasn't feasible to treat in the ambulance. Instead, they had made the choice to alleviate his pain, rather than ask him questions, which could either wait, or could be wordlessly answered by the plethora of visible red marks, welts, and dark bruises on the slumbering man's body, whose torso and legs were now covered by a thin, white blanket.

Even though he was currently in the land of the unconscious, she could tell that he was afflicted from the horror he had experienced. She could see his uninjured eye moving rapidly beneath his closed eyelid, his eyebrows furrowed as deep creases formed on his sweaty forehead.

They had discovered that he was running a fever, when the younger of the paramedics, who had introduced himself to Kensi as Felix, had taken the man's temperature. It had measured thirty-eight and a half degrees Celsius, which was a degree and a half higher than what the normal body temperature should be. The man had looked for potential causes for an infection, and had found his source on the bottom of the injured detective's feet.

The injury had been unbeknownst to Kensi, as they had not thought to look at the soles of her boyfriend's feet, but Felix had discovered the semi-deep lacerations, where, even if ignoring the nasty welts, the surrounding tissue was red, swollen, and with a slight hint of pus forming, a clear sign of inflammation.

Her gaze continued to drift between his bruised and beaten face and then back to the rhythmical rise of his chest. She studied his face closely, his mouth and nose covered by an oxygen mask, as the EMTs had noticed a wheezing in his breathing. She tried to keep her composure, which was slipping away from her little by little.

She had seen the overwhelming amount of marks on his body, and shuddered at the thought of how the best part of her life had been subjected to such horribleness. That was without thinking of the psychological terror, she was sure he had had to endure based off his frightened reaction to his own team. She was able to get through to him and offer some comfort, but any male voices he heard instantly had him tense, she had seen that both with Callen and Felix.

Thoughts continued to wander through the whole scenario she had seen in that dark room, before they finally settled to where they found him. That horrible, tiny box that had acted as Deeks' personal, cramped prison. The thought at the terror her boyfriend must have endured, lying in that inhumanly small and dark box was her undoing, as her watery eyes finally gave in and tears started to slowly dribble down her soft cheeks.

...

The two senior agents had stayed behind at the scene, as they waited for local law enforcement officers as well as a crime scene team. They decided on waiting outside the building, seeing as the inside brought forth terrible thoughts in both men, and they still needed to attempt to rein in the anger, which subsided just underneath the surface in both men.

Anger at the condition they had found their friend in. Anger at the man who had subjected him to it. But most of all, anger that they had not had a single clue, what was going on throughout the entire night, before they finally started looking for him late in the morning…The day after he was taken.

They knew the last part was not their fault, there was no way they could have known that anything had happened to the man, whom they had both come to see as family. But the rational part of their brains didn't function at that moment, and as such, both were content with the anger and self-loathing over having done nothing for the young liaison officer.

They had turned off their earwigs some time after the paramedics had left with their two coworkers. Because of that, their silence was interrupted when Callen's phone started ringing. He quickly looked at the caller, before pulling the device to his ear.

"What do you got, Eric?" He didn't bother with a greeting.

"We uhm," the technical operator started unsurely. "We've lost Troyger."

* * *

 **So: Your thoughts? I hope the angst made up for any lack of "action".**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for all the amazing reviews! I hope that you'll continue to enjoy the story as much as I am writing it.**

* * *

She was sitting in the uncomfortable, wooden chair, its thin, blue cushion slowly starting to hurt to sit on, but there was no way she was going _anywhere_. She was sat next to his hospital bed, the chair brushing right up against its white metal side, as she had moved the chair to be as close to him as possible. There was currently no one else in the private room they were in, as the doctors was finished performed the plethora of tests and examinations of the injured liaison detective and their colleagues had yet to show.

He had been out cold throughout the entirety of the examinations, the morphine he had gotten from the paramedics having given him the pain relief needed to get the first bit of actual rest, albeit drug-induced, in over twenty-four hours.

Kensi had originally been at unease at how long her boyfriend had been out for, but the doctor, who had introduced himself as Albert Jameson, who was the one treating Deeks, had assured her that it was perfectly natural, since his body needed the rest in order to further the healing process.

Her hand was placed tenderly on top of his, her thumb drawing circles on his wrist in the same way he usually would. She knew he was doing above expectations physically, Doctor Jameson had ensured her that there would be no long-term physical impairments, but both the experienced doctor and her were worried about his current psychological state.

The man whom they had found in that horrible, wooden box had been so unlike the man she knew and loved. She couldn't stop herself from drawing similarities between him, and the damaged man, who half-panically had refused to open his mouth in order for the doctor to assess the damage done. He, too, had seen danger where there was none, just as Deeks had done in the warehouse, both when Callen had spoken and when the paramedics had arrived.

Thinking back to that fearful man she had been forced to leave on the gurney by their assistant director, as they still needed to secure the stolen nuclear devices. She knew _rationally_ that it was the right thing to do, it _was_ her job, but she had never been able to forgive herself for leaving the man, who had just poured his heart out to her through a kiss, to deal with such horrible demons.

She would redeem herself. No doubt in her mind. She would be with her partner through _the_ _whole_ healing process, not just the physical one. No matter what happened or who would try to force her away, she would steadfastly refuse to leave his side. She knew it would take a long time for the man to overcome, what he had just been through. Nightmares would be an almost certainty, but at least she would be sleeping next to him this time, ready to force the frightening recollections in his dreams away.

Thinking about his current mental state caused the unshed layer of tears in her eyes to finally brim over, and for once, she didn't angrily swipe away at the sign of weakness, she merely allowed herself to get it all out of her system. She knew that she had to be strong in the near future to help the best man in her life through the toughest time in his.

...

They had spoken to their female colleague, who had told them that there weren't any updates on their injured friend, and since they knew he was currently sleeping, they wouldn't be able to contribute with anything at the hospital at the moment anyways. Because of that, Sam and Callen had headed back to OSP the minute they had showed the crime scene technicians, where they were needed.

They walked into the old building and through the tunnel leading into the main room. They were about to head up the stairs and into the Ops Center, but before they could set foot on the first step, an easily recognizable voice called for them behind.

"Mr. Callen, Mr. Hanna, a moment please?" She asked, gesturing back towards her open office.

The two senior agents glanced at each other, unsure of what their operations manager wanted at the moment, but knew better than to refuse to join her.

"I've just come off the phone with Director Vance," she started. "I was updating him on the situation regarding Mr. Deeks, as well as the elusive Mr. Troyger, whose status as missing he was not too pleased to hear."

"What are you trying to say, Hetty?" Callen asked, the anger he stored just beneath the surface making the question sound much harsher than he had meant.

"What I am trying to say, Mr. Callen, is that all of our cases are currently suspended…"

"What? Hetty he can't do that." The team leader asked incredulously.

"…Until we've caught the ones behind Mr. Deeks' physical and mental mauling," she continued her sentence from before. "Director Vance was adamant that until we have found and caught Mr. Troyger, The Office of Special Projects will not be handling any new cases." She finished her explanation, purposely having made it so the information was a relief for the agents, in order to skim away the top of their anger.

The team leader squinted slightly at the older woman, "Are you sure it was Director Vance who was adamant on that and not you, Hetty?"

She smiled slightly as his insinuation, "Actually, Mr. Callen, it was Owen who suggested it in the first place, although I am not denying the fact that it would have been the case no matter what."

"Why is it that I don't doubt that?" Sam said amused, but quickly sobered at the overall situation.

She just smiled inwardly at her agent's question, "Now if you will have me excused, I have a few more phone calls to make." She told them, gesturing upwards towards the Ops Center, silently telling them to resume what they were originally going to do.

...

Feeling him stir beneath her touch, she soon began to see the signs of him waking up. At first it was a slight twitch of his finger, then she saw his breathing become more erratic, as he came closer to the land of the conscious, his eyelid blinked a few times, causing her to stand up in anticipation of him waking up.

"Hey there, baby," she whispered to him, making sure to sound as non-threatening as possible. She felt him tense beneath her gentle touch. "It's okay, Marty. You're in the hospital, no one is going to hurt you anymore, I promise you," she told him, not sure he would remember where he was upon waking up, and wanted to reassure him of his safety.

Whilst he was still in his drug-induced sleep, she had decided on calling him Marty through his recovery, knowing that the name bore positive emotional weight for him, as she only used it during their most emotionally intimate moments.

"Kensi?" He asked for her, his voice hoarse and fearful as he searched for her.

The first few seconds after waking up, he had been panicking, unsure of where he was, but upon hearing the soothing voice of his partner and girlfriend, he managed to push back the immediate alarming thoughts. Even though he had recognized her voice, he had still felt the need for further confirmation in order to settle the thoughts.

"I'm right here," she assured him, squeezing his hand before brining it up to her lips and placing a tender kiss to the back of his palm. "I'm right here," she echoed again.

"T-thank you," he mumbled after a short silence.

Although he avoided eye contact, he hadn't turned his head away from her, which was a clear sign of improvement already, she thought to herself. Finally able to get a good luck at his ocean blue eyes, she saw that they were brimming with unshed tears, as he was clearly still uncertain and frightened about the whole situation.

"You don't have to thank me for that, Marty," she told him reassuringly. "I'll be right he as long as you want me to. I'm not going anywhere."

He didn't respond verbally, but she did think she saw a small nod from him. Smiling at his small acknowledgement, she reached with the hand that wasn't tethered to his, and tenderly moved a tendril of his blond hair way from his eyes.

She could still feel the unease and tremor right beneath the surface on him, but the fact that he had been responsive to her was a major relief. Just as she dared to think he might not have been _as_ emotionally scarred, as she had previously feared, the door opened to the room, and the almost lucid blond disappeared, replaced by a panicky, trembling man.

"P-please, n-no more," he said, shutting his eyes tightly, as he repeated the pleading mantra from the warehouse. The previously unshed tears running free down his beaten and bruised cheeks, and he squeezed Kensi's hand to the point where both of their fingers turned white.

Chastising herself for believing his mental state to not be as bad, she felt like she should have foreseen his reaction to unexpected noises.

She was attempting to reassure him instantly, tenderly caressing his cheek before she could think about her actions. "It's okay. Shh…It's okay, Marty," she told him, as he, thankfully, leaned into her silky touch. "It's the doctor, no one is going to hurt you, okay?" She whispered loudly to him, trying to keep away the hurt she felt from seeing him like this, as she felt the need to make sure she kept her voice as soft as possible.

She could tell his erratic breathing was uncomfortable for him, as it put unnecessary strain on his already cracked ribs. He moved his face further into the soft touch of her hand, and she continued to draw circles with her thumb. After a few semi-deep breaths, he was able to nod at her question.

The doctor, to his credit, had kept his distance during the encounter. Although he had received a phone call from an old, dear friend of his regarding this specific patient, he hadn't had a chance to see the injured liaison detective awake yet, and the reaction he had seen had deeply troubled the experienced doctor. He found the man's reaction much worse than expected, and already mentally made plans to bring in someone who could help with the mental anguish.

Kensi continued to caress his cheek, her soft touch and reassuring murmurs slowly grounding the injured man, when she felt him stop shaking, she asked him. "Is it okay for your doctor to come over and speak to you?"

Upon seeing the small nod from his patient, the grey-haired man looked to woman for further approval to approach. Receiving yet another nod, he calmly walked to the opposite bedside of the brunette.

The doctor was large in stature, but his silver-grey hair, round glassed, and kind smile made Kensi feel warmth around him. He definitely did not come off as threatening, but since even Deeks' colleagues had made him tremble previously, she didn't hold high hopes for the reaction to the doctor.

"Hello, Mr. Deeks, I'm Doctor Albert Jameson, I'm your attending physician," he informed him, his voice startling the man lying next to him, but Kensi's touch combined with his deep, silky voice managed to subdue some of the fear the injured detective had displayed. "While you were asleep I took the liberty of running a few tests, are you up for hearing the results, or would you prefer me saving that for a later point in time?" He felt it best to give the man options instead of springing him with information.

Deeks ventured a small glance at his girlfriend next to him, wanting to gauge her reaction. Seeing that he was looking at her in guidance, Kensi merely gave him a brave smile, not wanting to push him to something he didn't think he was up to.

"I-I'd rather wait," he stammered out, thinking for a second he added. "If that's o-okay?"

Kensi frowned at the need for further confirmation, since he had just been told that it was his choice. Obviously another byproduct of whatever it was that he had gone through at the hands of the sadistic Troyger.

"Of course," the kind doctor told him assuringly. "Now you might want to see if you can get some sleep, your body will need a lot of rest during the recovery. I'll be coming by to see you once more before I'm off." Doctor Jameson quickly checked the IV bag, ensuring it was at the correct setting, "If you need anything don't hesitate to press that call button, okay?" He told the two, gesturing to the location of the button, before turning his attention solely to Deeks. "You try and get some rest now," he told his patient with a warm smile, before he walked out of the room, leaving the couple alone once more.

"You should try and get some rest," she told him lovingly, having noticed his drooping eyes.

He looked unsurely at her, "W-will you-?" It was all he was able to say before she interrupted him reassuringly.

"I'll stay right here, Marty. You just try and get some rest and I'll be right here, when you wake up."

She leaned over him and placed a tender kiss to his burning forehead, reminding her that although the antibiotics the doctor had given him had caused the fever to subside, it still wasn't completely gone yet.

His hand still firmly grasping his girlfriend's, tethering him to what little safety he felt he had, Deeks closed his eyes, unable to keep his heavy eyelids from shutting. Soon he went into restless sleep once more.

...

The two senior agents walked into the Ops Center, having followed their operations manager's silent order. Before the automatic doors even had a chance to close, Callen spoke.

"Have you got anything on Troyger's location?"

"Nothing new, I'm sorry," the technical operator answered dejectedly. "I have, however, gotten his picture out to all local bus stations, train stations, airports, and border control. If he tries to make a run for it, we'll know," Eric assured his colleagues.

"Alright, well if you find something-"

"You'll be the first to know," the tall blond finished the lead agent's sentence.

Callen and Sam turned and started walking out the room, just as they were about to exit, the intelligence analyst spoke up. "Wait up guys," she called in her high-pitched voice. "I've just got a hit on facial rec from the guy Troyger was driving with." She told them, bringing up the file on the man onto the big screen. "His name is Marcel Galvan, he's got a felony charge for aggravated assault along with some other more minor stuff. He was released two months ago on parole, but surprise, surprise…he's missed his last check in with his parole officer."

"Address?" Sam questioned, after a small break allowing her to catch her breath.

"No last known address, I can send you the one for his parole officer if you'd like?" She asked.

"Do it," Callen told her. "We'll stop by there on our way to the hospital, hopefully Deeks is up for answering some questions."

...

He had barely slept for an hour, when she saw his features change from the nightmare. His face morphed into one of pained expressions, and his face was quickly covered in a thin sheen of sweat, dampening his bangs of golden hair. His rhythmical breathing turned ragged as if he couldn't get enough oxygen, as his whole body started to shiver.

Kensi tried rousing him from his sleep. "It's okay, Marty. It's just a dream. Wake up for me, baby," she told the man in her own wavering voice, but he was too far emerged in the terrors of the nightmare to register her soothing voice.

Suddenly, Deeks let out a blood-curling scream, waking himself up in the process. While still out of breath, he fearfully searched the room for his tormentors, dreading he might see the nasty features of Scarface once again. He shook at the thought, an uncontrollable shiver that he couldn't stop.

The gut-wrenching scream from her injured boyfriend caused the tears to fall once more. She instantly looked at the man, who had awoken himself by the pained outcry.

He jumped, when he felt the touch of someone on his cheek, "Shh…it's alright Marty, no one is going to hurt you. It's just you and me in here."

Before he had time to react to the soothing, silky voice, the door flung open, a nearby nurse who had heard the scream and had come rushing to aid the patient. Despite her good intentions, she only worsened the situation, since the sound of the door slamming open caused Deeks to quiver in fear. He closed his eyes painfully shut. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he told the intruder, fear clearly evident in his voice, as he tried to hide beneath the thin cloth that covered his chest.

If looks could kill, the young nurse would be lying dead on the floor if Kensi's glare were anything to go by. The young woman instantly stopped her movement, upon seeing the look she received for her non-elegant entrance.

"Is everything okay?" She asked.

"What do you think?" The female agent snapped at the nurse, causing her boyfriend to whimper at the harsh voice. "I'm so sorry Marty, I'm not angry at you I promise, okay? No one is going to hurt you, I'm right here, baby." She tried comforting her boyfriend, instantly forgetting the presence of the nurse. She kept caressing his cheek, which was under the sheet, as she had previously, but even that combined with her most non-confrontational voice didn't seem to make it through to the man.

"Please look at me Marty," she tried a different tactic. "You know who I am, right?"

He slowly dared removing a bit of the sheet he had pulled above his head, revealing two fearful eyes, albeit only one of them he could use currently, seeing as the other was completely swollen shut. The usual glimmer of mischief was substituted with a darkened fearful expression, bloodshot from the day's crying and hurt.

"You know who I am, Marty." She told him lovingly, "You know I would never hurt you, right?" She then asked hopefully.

She saw a timid nod from the shaking form, "That's good…then you also know that I would never let someone else hurt you whilst I'm here, right?"

She received another small nod of confirmation.

"Good," she told him, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, suddenly she was filled with a certain need. "Can I, uhm…is it okay if I hug you?" She wanted to ask before doing it, since he seemed to have immense problems with body contact, and as such, she felt like a hug could be a terrifying aspect for him.

He nodded a bit more sturdily at her, "Y-yeah." He told her, pushing himself up slightly, to get into a position to be comforted.

When he was done moving, she went in for the hug. At first it was timid as she was afraid of hurting his bruised and cracked ribs, but soon he was clinging to her as if his life depended on it. She felt his chest heaving against her and combined with feeling her shirt slowly dampening, she knew he was sobbing. The sobbing quickly turned into full-blown crying, as the floodgates opened, finally allowing himself to let out all the pain and anguish he had suppressed.

"I've got you," she whispered to him over and over again, as she let him cry out in the safety of her arms.

When the crying subsided to sniffles, she took a deep breath and with tear-filled eyes told him, "I love you so, so much Marty."

Upon hearing those three words, he parted slightly, finally allowing himself to look into her beautifully mismatched eyes. She saw his look tainted with disbelief before it lit up with a mix of recognition and comfort. "I-I love you t-too," he told her before snuggling back into her warm embrace, cocooning him from all the dread that had surrounded him.

Soon, she felt his breathing even out and she knew he had fallen asleep in the awkward posture. She tenderly laid him on his back, in order to not further antagonize his injured midsection. Sitting back in the uncomfortable chair, she went back to holding his hand, drawing comforting circles, while she watched the man she loved sleep.

She felt her eyelids become heavier as she suppressed yet another yawn. The emotionally draining day had taken its toll on the female agent, and the hour was late. Reasoning that she would be awoken by any of her boyfriend's movements, she leaned forward and carefully placed her head on their combined hands, making sure she didn't wake him up, before she, herself, slowly drifted into restless sleep.

...

Because of the late hour, they had called ahead to arrange the meeting with Marvel Galvan's parole officer. The meeting unfortunately hadn't yielded anything, as the older man hadn't had any information pertinent to Galvan's whereabouts. He did, however, mention a local bar that the felon seemed to frequent, but other than that he was of no help.

The small bar was only a short detour from the route to the hospital, and as such, the two senior agents decided to make a stop. The owner was working behind the bar and easily recognized the picture of the culprit, but told the agents that he hadn't seen him for the past two weeks, which coincided with the information they had gotten from the parole officer. Disappointed at the lack of progress, the two agents left their card and told the owner to give them a call if he saw Galvan before they headed towards the hospital.

...

It was just past midnight when they finally arrived at Cedars-Senai Medical Center. Both of the agents were starting to feel the signs of fatigue and were combatting that with the large Styrofoam cups, containing black goodness, which they had picked up on the way there. They had brought an extra cup, since both men knew how notoriously bad hospital coffee was, and were certain their colleague would appreciate the caffeine.

They passed the reception area with a nod to the secretary behind it, they already knew where they were going, having received a text from Kensi earlier stating, which room they were in. The agents made their way to the large elevator and Callen pressed the button for the sixth floor since the larger agent had both his hands full.

The short ride up was silent, both men's thoughts wandered to the man they had rescued in that God-forsaken warehouse earlier in the evening. They had catalogued everything in their minds. His bruises, the welts, and the burn marks, were no doubt a painful and terrible experience, but they couldn't seem to shake the thought that the waterboarding and _that_ _damn_ _box_ had been the ultimate downfall of the detective's mental state.

Sam's thoughts wandered to the time he had been buried alive alongside a fellow SEAL. He remembered the panic and claustrophobia, he had felt during the horrid experience. Having lost his friend as they were laying next to each other was still something that heavied his mind from time to time. The retired Navy-SEAL couldn't stop drawing parallels between that experience and the wooden torture chamber Deeks had been exposed to, the mere thought sending a chill down his spine.

Callen, too, was thinking back to previous experiences. The time where he was waterboarded at the hands of Nate and the fiend of a woman, whose name he had forgotten. Even though he had acted nonchalantly during the whole ordeal, he had still felt freight, and that was despite him having been convinced that Nate was on his side, that he had had an ally right next to him, even though the operational psychologist wasn't acting like it. Deeks hadn't had that, he thought, sighing inwardly as new pain at the thought of his friend surged to the front of his mind again.

When they reached the door, both agents had sobering expressions plastered on their faces. Dreading what sight would meet them inside the room, what state of mind the loveable detective was in, the team leader took a deep breath before he opened the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Another one! Your support for this series has been absolutely mindblowing, the amount of reviews has been staggering; it never fails to brighten my day. Hope that you'll continue to be awesome, and will enjoy this chapter.**

 **All the best, Cape**

* * *

Hetty was sitting at her desk drinking some calming chrysanthemum tea, which she had acquired from one of her trips to China many a year ago. She had just gotten off the phone with one of her contacts from within the agency, whom hadn't been too keen to hear the voice of operational manager. However, after a not so gentle reminder that she was owed a favor from him, he assured her that he would allocate some resources to see if they had any information regarding the present location of Jonah Troyger.

She allowed herself a few minutes to sit back and enjoy the steaming beverage, before she pushed out of her chair and made way for the Ops Center. The metallic doors pushed aside and she stepped into the modern room. She saw the technical operator as well as the intelligence analyst hard at work, completely focused and typing so furiously on their keyboards, that they didn't notice the noisy, automatic doors open.

Allowing herself a slight smile over her employees' diligence, she cleared her throat, catching the attention of both Eric and Nell.

"You have done excellent work today," she started. "But you will not be able to continue in doing so, if you burn yourself out. I'd like for you both to head home, get some rest, and return here tomorrow at nine o'clock."

"Hetty we can't," Nell commented incredulously. "Troyger is still out there and-"

"And he will still be out there tomorrow as well," she interrupted the intelligence analyst. "It wasn't a request, both of you need to go home, get some sleep. It will be another long day tomorrow."

She understood their unwillingness to leave the room, their unwillingness to stop their search for the bastard, who had hurt their friend beyond comprehension, but she couldn't allow either of the two technical geniuses to burn out, when such important matters were at stake.

Knowing they were beaten, the technical tag-team started shutting down for the evening. They knew she was right logically, but that didn't mean they had to agree emotionally. They would still have Kaleidoscope running, tracking movements in case the man's Jaguar should reappear. They had also contacted all public transport stations and airports in a two hundred mile radius, telling them to be on lookout for both Troyger and Galvan, so unless he crossed unseen into Mexico, they knew he wouldn't be able to leave the country.

Satisfied that they had covered their bases, at least for the night, Eric turned to their operations manager, "You'll go home as well, right Hetty?"

"Of course, Mr. Beale," she lied easily, knowing fully well that she would be around for at least a few more hours to pull some additional strings.

"Good," the blond allowed himself a smile. "Well goodnight, Hetty."

"Goodnight you two," she nodded them off.

...

When they reached their respective cars in the parking lot, both Eric and Nell were hit with a reluctance to head home. Having noticed the feeling in his partner as well, the blond surfer made his way over to the tiny, pixie-like woman.

"Are you okay?" He asked, knowing fully well the answer based off the shimmering in her eyes.

"Not really, no," she admitted, shaking her head without making eye contact.

"I know this isn't one of our 'on-nights'," he caught the attention of his partner. "But would you like to perhaps stay in my place for tonight?" He asked somewhat nervously.

They had been spending a lot more time together outside of work, as their partnership slowly evolved into a relationship. Although they still had many milestones to cross, neither could deny the growing emotional connection between them.

"I would like that," she smiled upon the tall man. "Thank you, Eric," she told him, as she wrapped him into a fierce hug.

"Anytime, Ununoctium," he assured her. "Anytime."

...

She was awoken instantly by the slight squeaking of the door, even though she had been sound asleep, her subconscience had still been on high alert. A quick glace over to her boyfriend revealed that he was still in fitful sleep, her glare then shifted towards the slowly opening door. Even though Hetty had ordered two officers stationed at the end of the hospital's hallway, her hand still moved to the small of her back, grabbing the handle for her weapon in preparation for who was arriving unannounced.

When the head of her team leader finally peaked around the door, she drew out a sigh of relief. She let go from her weapon and motioned for the two senior agents to enter.

"How's our boy doing?" Sam asked as he passed her the Styrofoam cup, as he made sure to keep his voice down to keep from waking up the sleeping detective.

"Thanks," she told him, accepting the cup of coffee. "About the same as before," she then started her explanation. "He still panics, whenever he hears anything unexpected, be that people entering or voices," she sighed in an attempt to rein in her emotions.

"And physically?" Callen asked.

"He was pretty beat up, they think his burn marks were from a cattle prod," she swallowed deeply, trying to hold back her anger. "And he's has been sleeping a lot, which the doctors say is pretty normal, but he shouldn't have any lasting problems or even marks, except beneath his feet."

The two agents looked quizzically at their younger counterpart, "What do you mean by 'except beneath his feet'?" Sam asked worriedly.

Realizing that she hadn't told them, what the paramedic, Felix, had discovered in the ambulance on the way over, she started. "He, uhm…he had some pretty nasty welts beneath his feet, as well as, uhm…they had also cut his soles with a knife several times," she admitted, having a hard time reeling in her emotions. "It's not too deep, but still deep enough to leave scarring." As she told them, she could see their expressions slowly turn into one of pure hatred for the man, or men, who had done this to their friend. "He's also running a fever because of the cuts getting infected," she then added.

Sam mumbled a swear under his breath, as his jaw tightened further upon receiving the new information about his friend's injuries.

Callen was just about to speak up, but was interrupted when the sleeping man started thrashing in his sleep, mumbling something that sounded incoherent, but there was no mistaking the fearful tone of which it was spoken with.

Kensi was immediately trying to calm him, tenderly touching his cheek, as her thumb drew comforting patterns, "Shh…you're alright. You're all right Marty. It's just a dream. Please just wake up to me, okay baby?" She called out to him in his sleep, using the same soothing voice as she had previously, albeit a bit heavier with emotion this time around.

"I don't…please, no more," he called out, fear clearly evident in his broken voice.

"You're okay Marty, you're safe. Just wake up to me, please," she tried keeping control of her emotions, but the task felt increasingly difficult.

His one currently functional eye snapped open and immediately settled on Kensi, the timid look pulling at Kensi's heartstrings with hurt and sympathy for what he was going through. She didn't see any recognition in his eyes and knew that he was still somewhere between awake and sleep. She continued stroking his cheek, while her other hand searched for his, she found it easily and gave him a squeeze, giving him time to wake up more.

"You're okay Marty, it was just a nightmare," she told him.

His body was still shaking from the residual fear from the bad dream, but he managed to become lucid much quicker than the first time she had woken him up from a nightmare. "Kens?" He asked, as he realized who was touching him. Upon receiving a hum of confirmation, he leaned into the comforting touch and closed his eyes, allowing the silky touch of her skin to chase away the last fright from his night terror.

"Callen and Sam are here as well," she told him after he had stopped trembling. She knew that he was still terrified of unexpected voices and entrances, and wanted to give him a forewarning to their voices.

He swallowed deeply before meeting her eyes for the first time since waking up, through her loving gaze, she tried to tell him that he was indeed safe and had nothing to fear currently. Their non-verbal communication had always been excellent, and it seemed that it luckily hadn't faltered despite his experience. "Okay," he nodded slightly.

Taking that as their cue, the two senior agents took a few tentative steps further into the room.

"Hey Deeks," Callen softly greeted their friend and colleague.

She felt his jaw tighten, as he squeezed her hand in discomfort, she did, however, notice that his reaction wasn't as extreme as it had been with the nurse earlier in the evening. Reasoning that it was due to him being prepared for the arriving voice, she mentally noted it down to always tell him, who was entering the room, so she could minimize the amount of times he would be surprised by any unknown sounds.

"We're really glad you're alive," Sam continued to match his partner's soft tone. "If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to ask," he nodded towards his female colleague. "That goes for you as well, _anything_ just let us know."

Unable to find words, Deeks merely nodded slightly at the heartfelt offer. The soft voice from the otherwise hardened military man, resonated within the injured detective, causing a thin layer of unshed tears to form. He had only heard his friend use that voice less than a handful of times, the most memorable being the one, where the retired SEAL had entered his hospital room after their mutual suffering at the hands of the Russian arms dealer.

Kensi had known about the improvement in the relationship between the two very different men, but she hadn't actually seen it up close very often. She found a great amount on comfort in the fact that the two men standing opposite of her, would really do _anything_ to help alleviate the pain of the man she loved.

Surprising everyone, it was Deeks who spoke up, "Y-you're n-not just here t-to see how I'm d-doing, are y-you?"

It was Kensi's turn to tense up, she had been so concerned with the mental wellbeing of her boyfriend that she had completely neglected to think about anything else. Neither the case nor the impending follow-up to nail the bastard had been on her mind.

"We'll only ask questions if you think you're up to it," Callen assured his injured friend.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, guys," Kensi insisted, her protectiveness shining through, since she dreaded having her boyfriend having to relive his torture so soon after having been rescued.

She felt him squeeze her hand and turned to meet his gaze, she could tell that he wanted to assist his colleagues, but there was no hiding the apprehension either, to which no one could really blame him.

"I-I want to help," he finally croaked, his fierce dedication to fighting crime and injustices overcoming his sense of self-preservation.

Kensi studied his face for a short moment, whilst keeping eye contact. Seeing no immediate signs of doubts, she sighed and nodded her acceptance, "Just…please don't push yourself, okay Marty?" She asked gently.

He tried a brave smile for her, but it came across as more of a grimace. "Of course," he tried reassuring her.

She wasn't entirely convinced, but knew that it was the best she was going to get for the moment. She then turned to the two senior agents, and in an authoritative voice, she started listing the criteria for questioning, "No pushing it, no going into details, no-"

"We promise to be gentle, Kensi," Sam interrupted her with his reassurance. Although he didn't have the same emotional connection to the man as she did, he was still fiercely protective of his teammates, whom he had come to see as family, and the last thing he or Callen wanted to do, was cause more damage to Deeks' psyche.

The retired SEAL had had a plethora of traumatic experiences in the past, some more traumatizing than others. He knew what things were hard for him to speak about following the traumas, and as such, had a good idea of which subjects to avoid with the detective for the time being.

Upon receiving a nod from the female agent, Sam started the questioning, "How many different men were with you in the warehouse?"

"T-three," he answered in a slightly shaky manner.

Inwardly, the three agents breathed a sigh of relief. The fact that there had 'only' been three different culprits in the warehouse meant that they knew the identities of all the perpetrators, who had caused his suffering. Ryan Powell, they already had incarcerated, which left Marcel Galvan and Jonah Troyger, who were still at large.

"What information did they want from you?" Callen continued, making sure to keep his tone light.

The injured detective tensed up at the question, as he went through his mind for the answer.

...

 _His knuckles were white from the clenching his fists tightly in a feeble attempt to combat the enhanced interrogation technique. His nose, throat, and lungs burned from the liquid that the two men continuously forced him to inhale._

 _When the soaked cloth was finally removed from his face, he coughed up some of the swallowed water, his entire body desperate for oxygen, as his brain had started shutting down from the deprivation._

 _When he had finally gotten a few semi-deep breaths in, he forced his eyes open even though he only had vision in one of them, thanks to the swelling in his left eye. The sight startled him immensely, as the ugly features of Scarface hovered just above him, the feral grin decorating the otherwise maimed face._

" _Who. Are. You. Working. For?" He asked, whilst slowly dragging his nail down the naked chest of the man in an almost sensual manner, causing shivers to run up the restrained man's spine._

" _I-I d-don't work f-for anyone," he managed to sputter through his coughing._

" _Oh well," Scarface smile widened disturbingly. "Shame," he said, shrugging nonchalantly as the henchman slowly started placing the cloth over his face again, making sure to start from a height to allow their captive the dread before pulling it flush over his face._

" _P-please d-don't," he begged, tears rolling down his bruised cheeks. "No, p-please, no…I-I don't-" he didn't manage to make any more pleadings, before his voice was muffled by the soaked fabric._

 _The water slowly began pouring once more._

 _..._

Kensi noticed his change in demeanor immediately. His whole body was shaking as he relived what had happened to him through a flashback. Hot tears started flowing freely, as the memories had engulfed him.

"I-I did-didn't t-tell them," he cried, shaking his head furiously.

"Tell them what?" Callen pushed. He knew the questions had caused his flashback, but if they didn't get the answer, Deeks' current mental suffering would have been for nothing, so he pushed.

When they didn't receive an immediate answer, Sam asked in a much softer voice than his partner, "What didn't you tell them, Deeks?"

"W-where I-I work," he finally explained sobbingly.

The admission was too much of a reminder for him, as he leaned forward and settled his head on Kensi's chest, grabbing fistfuls of her shirt as he clung to her, as if his life depended on it. The fabric of her shirt slowly dampened, as she allowed the broken man to cry out all the hurt of the reminder.

"I-I didn't t-tell them…y-you have to b-believe me," he croaked into her shirt, making it barely audible for the three agents.

"I know you didn't, baby. I know," she assured him, as she continued drawing comforting circles on his back.

...

"We had to ask him that," Callen stated just before they reached their destination. He wasn't sure whether he was trying to convince himself or his partner. The silence during the car ride had been uncomfortable to say the least, as both of the senior agents had contemplated if their actions of pushing their colleague and friend had been worth it.

The dark skinned agent took a deep breath, "I know, G." He said calmly, "But that doesn't make it right either."

"You're right, but for now we need to see if we can make sense of what he said," the team leader stated, ever the logical thinker. Even though the big, retired SEAL hardly ever showed it, he had always been the more emotional one in their partnership, and as such, Callen sometimes had to look a bit more heartless to push through.

"Alright," Sam conceded. "Why would someone want to know where he works? It wouldn't be hard to find the exact precinct," Sam thought aloud. Through their years of working together, they had found it best to simply bounce ideas off one another, both having an easier time figuring things out that was said out loud.

"Unless they weren't talking about his place with LAPD," Callen bounced back.

"Which means that they wanted to know about the location of OSP," Sam said.

"Right," Callen's jaw tightened. "Let's go tell Hetty."

...

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" She asked, as two of her agents were standing on the step to her open office.

"We went to see Deeks at the hospital," the team leader informed their boss.

"I see," she told them. "And how is our Mr. Deeks doing?"

"Not well, honestly," Sam conceded. "He's pretty beat up, from what Kensi was able to tell us, they used a cattle prod on him."

"And if the room we found him is anything to go by, he was also waterboarded and beat with a cane…you already know about that damn box," Callen let some of his anger slip through in his voice.

"I do," she had already seen the crime scene photos. "Was it merely a social visit, or did you get to ask Mr. Deeks some questions?"

"Two," Sam answered, gritting his teeth. "We only got to ask two questions, before he couldn't take it anymore." He continued sadly.

"I see," she answered, keeping her calm exterior. "Will his answers at least help further our investigation?"

"Deeks confirmed that only three guys were present in the warehouse," Callen informed their operations manager. "Which means that we at least know the identities of them all."

Hetty sat quietly and nodded along, silently asking them to continue their small briefing.

"And then he said they asked him where he worked…he was really shaken up over it, and adamant that he hadn't told them."

"Of that I have no doubt, Mr. Callen. We have all seen the strength of Mr. Deeks, and we, unfortunately, know from experience that he can sustain quite a lot," she said solemnly.

"What do you think he meant by 'where he worked'?" Sam asked, "We figured it had to be about OPS."

"Or NCIS in general," the older woman added, causing her two agents to look quizzically at her. "NCIS' involvement in taking down Jacobus Troyger and the other weapon dealers was never made public."

"But Deeks wasn't even working here at the time?" Sam question aloud, before he had a time to think it through.

"As for how they know that Mr. Deeks has association with our agency, I would think it common knowledge by now that he is working in a liaison position. Even though he has been careful to redact the name of said agency in his reports, it wouldn't be a stretch to assume it to be the same one." The older woman reasoned.

The plausible explanation did nothing to diminish the guilt that they felt for their, in fact it increased it. The knowledge that a man wanted vengeance for a case that was before Deeks' time was like another punch to their guts, as is did nothing but strengthen their feelings of guilt.

"Which means that this is all about one thing," Callen started.

"Vengeance, Mr. Callen. Vengeance," she took a big sip of her tea.

...

It had taken several minutes before she had been able to calm him enough that he was no longer shaking. Whilst holding her broken boyfriend, she had sent her two senior colleagues a look, silently telling them to leave for the night.

Logically she knew that they hadn't meant him any harm, they were merely trying to make sense of the case in order to ensure their teammate's safety, and bring justice to the men who had caused him harm, but she still seethed at them for causing the flashback.

Truthfully, she was even angrier with herself for having allowed the questioning in the first place. She knew that he had trouble with unexpected voices and sounds, it wouldn't have been a huge leap to assume he wouldn't be up for answering even the simplest of questions, which related back to his time in that warehouse.

"I'm sorry," he said after the crying had subsided to sniffles.

She was surprised, when he spoke up, but even more so over his need to apologize to her. "What for?" She asked calmly.

"Not being able t-to help m-more," his voice still wobbly, but had gained a bit of strength back.

"Look at me, Marty," she ordered him, using her thumb and index finger to gently nudge his chin up, so he would meet her eyes. "You have _nothing_ to be sorry for. _Nothing_. The information you gave Sam and Callen was _good_ , they now have something to go on. Even though you feel as if you should be able to give more right now, you still pushed through and helped. Don't you ever dare apologizing for doing the best you can, Marty. I'm so proud of you."

His eyes had gotten covered by another layer of unshed tears during her small speech, but this time it wasn't from remembering the horrors at the hands of Scarface, it was from appreciation and affection for the woman, who currently held him in her arms.

"T-thank you," he told her, looking into her beautiful and shimmering mismatched eyes.

"You're welcome," she easily told him, before turning serious again. "Look, I know that I wasn't there for you last time. I've already told you that I'm not going anywhere, and I meant that. So whenever you're ready to tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours, I'll be there to listen, okay?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "Okay," he said, smiling weakly at her.

She smiled back at him and leaned in for a kiss. He was static, as she pressed her soft lips to his for the first time since he had been taken. She was careful, not wanting to further hurt his split lip, but what the kiss lacked in heat, it made up for tenfold in affection.

When they parted, her eyes had welled with tears, the clear liquid running down her cheeks in an unbroken streak.

"What's wrong?" He asked concernedly, as he brought his hand to tenderly wipe away the flow of tears from her cheeks.

"I'm just really happy that you're alive," she admitted. She hadn't wanted to show weakness in front of him, since she knew he would be in a fragile state of mind, but her feelings were running rampant through her.

"Me too," he told her, with a timid smile.

She chuckled slightly at his joke, as she wiped away the last traces of tears. "Okay, I'm done being a wuss now," she smiled at him.

"I love you," he told her. Her toughness had brought forth the first real smile on his face since the event.

"I love you too," she pecked him on the lips.


	7. Chapter 7

**Another chapter (yay!). I just want to quickly thank you all for your amazing support to this story, it is truly appreciated. I hope you'll enjoy this next installation in the story.**

* * *

After their short meeting regarding information sharing with her subordinates, Hetty had told both Sam and Callen to go home to get some shuteye as well. Although she had set the time for their arrival at nine in the morning, the still operational part of the team entered the old building almost two hours earlier than what their operations manager had ordered.

After putting down their bags, the two senior agents quickly ascended the stairs, climbing it two steps at a time, in a brisk effort to quickly get an update from their colleagues, whom they both knew would already be in as well. Seconds after first setting their feet on the stairs, the automatic doors to the Ops Center opened with a swish.

"Morning guys," Sam greeted his two colleagues as they entered, causing them to turn around in their chairs in order to face them.

"Good morning," the technical tag-team echoed together.

"Anything new come up since last night?" Callen asked cautiously optimistic.

Nell shook her head, "No hits on Kaleidoscope."

"Neither Troyger nor Galvan have tried leaving the country," Eric chimed in. "Unless of course they decided to jump the border to Mexico."

"One of them could have some contacts South of the border," the retired SEAL thought aloud.

"Yeah, but I just don't think Troyger run, he was pretty set on figuring out where Deeks worked," Callen added, causing both Eric and Nell to look confused at the team leader. "We visited Deeks late last night, he was able to tell us that there were only three guys in the room with him, and that Troyger wanted to know where he worked." He then quickly explained.

"Wouldn't it be easy to figure out his precinct?" Eric asked almost immediately after receiving the information.

"It would," Nell concurred, before she realized the same thing that Sam and Callen had earlier. "He wanted to know the location of OSP."

Sam furrowed his brows for a moment, thinking back to the conversation he and Callen had had with their boss, "Hetty suggested that it might be NCIS in general he wanted the identity of and not The Office of Special Projects."

Nell caught on to what he, or rather Hetty, was suggesting, "Which would make sense in the way that 'where someone works' could be understood two ways."

"The physical location or the employer," Eric continued her sentence, a thing that would have severely annoyed both of them, when the technical analyst had both started, although he couldn't say that he hated the role reversal.

"So Troyger wasn't trying to find out where OSP is…" Callen concluded. "He was trying to find out what agency Deeks worked for."

"How would Troyger know it was the same agency that took down his brother?" Nell asked.

"And where did they get Deeks' address? He changes his routine daily, they shouldn't have been able to just follow him there," Eric added onto the beginning of a mountain of questions.

The doors to the Ops Center opened, and with impeccable timing, their operations manager entered the room, already starting her sentence. "It would seem that the knowledge of Mr. Deeks' address, as well as the clear indication of access to his reports from LAPD are pointing towards an unfortunate scenario."

"A mole," Callen's conclusion sounded bitterly.

"It makes sense," Sam said concurringly, his lips were in a tight line and angry creases were forming on his forehead, like any case where someone would break loyalty to their country or their brothers in arms.

"But it would have to be in LAPD, since Troyger still doesn't know that it was NICS, who took down his brother," Nell, the ever logical, added the relieving information to everyone.

Callen nodded in her assessment, "Eric, Nell, can you-"

"Look through all employees at Deeks' precinct. Look for any transactions or wire transfers that seem out of place. On it." Eric interrupted the team leader, already having started typing furiously on the keyboard.

"Good, we'll go talk to Bates, see if he can shed some light over this whole mess," he stated, only partially able to mask his anger at the thought of Deeks having been betrayed by one of his brothers in blue. Although before he and Sam left, he quickly looked for approval in their operations manager. Upon receiving a small nod from her, the two senior agents briskly made their way to Sam's Challenger.

...

She was woken up to the familiar sound of the door creaking open, but instead of reaching for her gun at her small, her sleepy mind decided to keep at least a bit of faith in the officers posted down the hallway.

Seeing the easily recognizable grey hair of Doctor Jameson come out from behind the door, she took a breath of relief, not entirely sure why she felt relieved. A second later, she could see the doctor's warm eyes peaking in to see if his patient is awake, upon seeing the injured detective sound asleep, he entered the room silently. She smiled at his initial cautiousness, he had obviously also come to the conclusion, to have Kensi announce his presence before physically entering the room, and just peeking in would have given her that opportunity.

"Good morning Agent Blye," he greeted her, his voice hushed but warm.

"Good morning, doctor."

"How is our patient doing? Any incidents since last night?" He asked, curious about the mental status of his patient.

It was clear that the elder physician was genuinely interested in the well being of his patient, which was a breath of fresh air compared to the usual forced interest, she was used to seeing with other doctors and nurses. Her smile didn't last long, as she remembered his panicky state after forcing himself to answer questions for his teammates.

"He uhm…he had visitors late last night," she answers, unable to keep a frown from appearing as she thought back to the shaking form of her boyfriend.

"And how did that go?" Doctor Jameson asked, even though he could already tell from the female agent's expression that the visit had been less than stellar.

Kensi took a deep breath before diving into the long-winded recount of the episode, "He had a nightmare a few minutes before they arrived, but he became lucid much quicker than when you were here last time."

"Go on," he kindly prompted her, sensing there was a lot more to the story.

"Well, at first it was the usual 'glad you're okay' kind of thing, but Deeks sensed that they were also there to ask a few questions, he even prompted them to do so. He really wanted to help," she swallowed deeply, forcing the emotions that had threatened to make an appearance back down. "He answered the first a bit shakily, but otherwise okay…the second, uhm…after the second question, he got a flashback, which really shook him up. He managed to answer, but his voice was broken, he was shaking, and I just held him as he cried for the next ten'ish minutes."

The elder doctor nodded along during the recollection of the event, and even though it sounded like quite a bad experience on the surface, he was actually positively surprised by his patient's determination to help his colleagues despite his obvious fear. It showed determination and willpower, which one needed to push past terrible events the likes of what he had experienced.

"I'm sorry you and he had a rough night," he said kindly, before continuing explaining, while he noted down Deeks' vitals. "But I do think him being wanting to help is a good sign, it displays a determinedness to push past his current mental struggles."

She took a moment to think about his words, at first, she had been extremely concerned over his reaction, and especially his flashback, but as the experienced doctor put his willingness and wanting to help into perspective, she felt a knot she didn't know had been there loosen.

"That's good then…I think," she finally answered.

"It is," he smiled at her. "His fever has also gone down I see, but I want to give him another day for his body to rest before starting to get a therapist involved, but I do think it would be better to start sooner rather than later."

She considered, what he had said for a short moment. She knew that she alone would not be enough to help her boyfriend through his struggles, she had already experienced that twice. The first time was with her and Jack, where his incapability to deal with his PTSD had eventually led to their engagement promptly being terminated, and since she suspected that her everything would be diagnosed with the same damned four letters, she would accept any and all help in order to get him back on his feet.

The second time was when Deeks had suffered at the hands of Sidorov, where she had been unable to reach her partner until Nate had stepped in. Granted, it had partially been because, she had wanted to give the man some space, which she had felt was the right move at the time. Hard earned experience, and a change in relationship status, had her convinced that was not the way to go, and as such, she would determinedly work with any team of therapists to help him.

She had been too gone in her own thoughts to give an answer to the doctor, which prompted him to ask, "Would you be okay with that?"

She knew that she technically had no say in his treatment, but appreciated him asking for her acceptance nonetheless. "Yeah," she nodded eagerly, before she enthusiastically added, "Absolutely." But still remembering to keep her voice down in order not to wake up her sleeping boyfriend.

"Alright, sounds good," he smiled kindly at her. "I need to get going, but I will check up a few times during the day, hopefully Mr. Deeks will be awake at that time."

She just nodded at the experienced physician, as he turned on heel and exited the room as quietly as he had entered.

...

"Let me get this straight. First I have that little ninja woman calling me to tell me that one of my best detectives has been tortured…and now you're here telling me that you suspect that _someone_ in LAPD had something to do with causing that?" Bates made no moves towards hiding his anger.

"They knew his address _and_ they knew that he works with the agency that took down one of the suspect's brother," Callen calmly repeated the information.

"And they couldn't have gotten that information from someone inside NCIS?" The lieutenant asked incredulously.

"Deeks said they tortured him to find out which agency he worked for," Sam explained much calmer than his partner. "If it had been a mole inside NCIS, they would've already had that information."

The ill-tempered lieutenant seemed to consider the information for a moment. Both agents could see the moment he accepted, what they had just told him, his jaw tightened and it was as if the air in the room dropped a few degrees. If he had been in a foul mood prior to accepting their accusation, he was now seething at the thought that one of their own had, at the very least, inadvertently caused the suffering of a fellow officer of the law.

"I'll conduct my own investigation from here, I'm assuming that you're going to do the same thing?" He growled, his anger palpable but no longer aimed towards the two agents standing opposite his large oak desk.

Although the question seemed rhetorical, Callen felt the need to answer it anyways, "We already are."

"Good," Bates responded, surprising the two agents, seeing as the weathered lieutenant seemed displeased every time their agency big-footed into any investigation, pushing aside LAPD. "I will share whatever I find on my end, I expect you to do the same. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do," his tone left no room for the agents to respond or argue.

...

"Morning," she dragged out the word in a cheery, almost singsongy manner.

"Hey," he replied, his voice husky from just waking up.

"How are you feeling?" She asked tentatively, their talk late last night after Sam and Callen had left had seemed to have made Deeks open up more, he had still seemed timid, almost fragile, but he had at least spoken more freely than previously.

"You mean besides my entire body feeling like it's on fire?" The words could seem harsh, but his tone indicated that he tried to lighten the mood in a faux-answer to her question.

She grabbed a hold of his hand, causing him to break eye contact in order to look at their intertwined fingers. After a moment, he gently squeezed in thanks and found her eyes again. He felt like he could much better grasp everything that had happened to him, when he was tethered to her. After all, she was who had finally grounded him the last time he felt trapped in his mind, he wouldn't want to commit the same mistake twice.

"I'm doing somewhat okay…I think," he started. "There's a whole lot going on in my head that I'm having a hard time figuring out…one moment I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs and the next like curling up beneath a duvet and just cry."

Kensi stared at him through his admission, she had hoped that she could get him to open up even just a tiny bit, but the fact that he had opened up completely, and told her what was going on through his cluttered mind was prodigious.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," she told him tentatively, as she fought to keep the forming tears at bay. "It means a lot that you trust me with that."

He smiled at her. It was a small, delicate smile that she hadn't seen often from him, but she drew comfort from it nonetheless, "I trust you with everything."

Before she could stop herself, she leaned in slowly and tenderly pressed her lips to his split one, she didn't have any words that were sufficient to articulate the appreciation she felt towards him. So in true fashion to their relationship, she decided to _show_ her appreciation instead, momentarily forgetting his angst for touching. Luckily, it seemed that he, too, had forgotten his apprehension, as he changed the tone of the kiss from diffident to appreciation and affection, as they both poured their feelings into the intimate lip lock.

Even though it hadn't been heated, they were both panting, when they finally parted. It was as if the genuine show of affection had instantly removed some of the dark fog that had surrounded them in the room, and they both felt lightened by the physical reminder that their relationship was still intact.

She looked at him lovingly for a moment, although his one visible eye was still darker than usual, it seemed to have an increased strength in it once more. She cocked her head and parted her kiss-swollen lips, as she broke the silence, "You're going to get through this, Marty." She stopped briefly before correcting herself, " _We_ are going to get through this."

He considered her words, the fact that she corrected herself from him to both of them showed him that she, too, was struggling with everything that had happened to him. It was a reminder that even though he was currently hurting, both physically and mentally, _he_ still had to be there for _her_ as well.

Logically he knew that he wouldn't be able to provide the same amount of support in his weakened mental state, as he would prefer, but if there was one thing he had taken away from his prior experience with mental anguish, it was that Kensi would receive the most support by him merely doing everything he could to improve…and letting her help with the process. No matter what painful or uncomfortable things he had to endure, whether that was therapy or physical therapy, he vowed to soldier through it, if not for him then for them…for her.

"We're going to get through it," he echoed her words, finding strength in them.

He knew he had made the right choice, when he saw her timid smile increase to her usual dazzlingly beautiful smile that brightened her entire face. He soon found out that the smile was contagious, as they were both smiling brightly for the first time since before the event.

...

"Huh, that's weird," she stated confusedly.

"What is?" He asked, rolling his chair over so he could see what was happening on her monitor.

"We've just received a document package, but I can't track the sender."

"Does it seem to be malicious?" The technical operator asked cautiously.

"I've just checked, there doesn't seem to be any Trojans or other software embedded in the files," she carefully explained, as she showed him the result of her test on the monitor.

"Well…maybe we should try and open it?" He suggested, failing to sound the least bit convincing.

"Wait just one second," she told him, as she left her chair and moved behind their computers, pulling out a cable, he easily recognized as being the one connecting the PC to the main server. "Now we're no longer connected, we should be good to check what's in those files."

Moving her mouse, she double-clicked on the mysterious folder. They both looked wonderingly, when they saw the contents of said folder, or rather, folders. They saw a plethora of different files and photographs, perfectly organized by year _and_ location, every single file having one thing in common, that they regarded Jonah Troyger.

"This is from the CIA," Nell stated aloud, even though she knew her partner was equally capable of seeing the hidden watermark on the file they had just opened.

"Yeah…and it looks like they've been following him for quite some time. There are previous known locations, associates and-"

"Aliases," Nell finished his sentence.

He turned to his own monitor once again, "If you read them out loud, I'll start the search for them."

...

"You want to talk about it?" She asked him cautiously after he had calmed down a bit.

He had drifted off about an hour and a half after he had woken up the first time, and until five minutes ago, he had been sleeping peacefully. Then Kensi noticed the clear signs of a nightmare forming, he had started a slight whimpering in his sleep and a thin sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead. It took about five minutes, from when he had first started the uncomfortable dream until he had jolted out of his sleep due to the night terror.

"Not really," he admitted somewhat bashfully.

"Okay. That's okay," she assured him, but not wanting to take a step back from their previous conversation, she decided to push a little anyways. "But it would help to talk about it. I just know that talking to you was one of the only things that helped me push past what happened in Afghanistan," she admitted. "And I was hoping that maybe you'd let me help you through this as well, by letting me in, and by sharing what you're thinking, what you're struggling with."

His expression had softened upon hearing her opening up to him. After Kensi had returned to work, neither of them had spoken much about the abysmal time, they had spent in the sandy country across the world. He felt a tinge of disappointment at himself that he had been unable to keep his part of their 'deal', to get through this present ordeal together.

She studied him closely and could see him fighting an inner battle between attempting to stay clammed up and opening up to her. She saw the minute he had reached a decision, since a layer of unshed tears formed in both his eyes. He tried to blink it away but failed, as the saltwater slowly dribbled down his bruised cheeks, as he prepared himself to tell her what his dream had been about.

He finally started his explanation, in the same broken voice he had first used when he had been rescued, insecure and terrified. "I uhm…I d-dream about b-being locked in that c-crate…that fucking crate," he shook his head, the venom in his words at the mention of the torture device was clear as day, even despite his sniffling. "I d-dream that I'm t-trapped in that d-dark box and w-when it open it…it's n-not you, or C-Callen, or Sam…it's S-Scarface, or w-whatever his n-name is. And w-when he p-pulls me out y-you're right t-there on the floor, there's b-blood, oh g-god there's so much blood," he finally breaks into sobbing, unable to find further words as the vivid imagery of his nightmare returned at full force.

She pulled him into another hug, just as they had, when Sam and Callen had pushed him a bit too far late last night. She drew comforting circles on his back, as she continuously murmured reassurances in his ear. His crying was almost like being stabbed in the heart, she felt every ounce of pain he felt, as he continued his tearful, cathartic release.

After a few minutes, which felt like an almost eternity, she felt his grip on her shirt lessen, as he had finally regained his composure.

"I'm sorry," he sniffled a final time.

"Hey," she grabbed his attention, making him look her in the eyes. "How many times do I have to remind you that you have _nothing_ to be sorry for, Marty? _Nothing_."

She saw his lips bend upwards slightly in a bashful smile, "You might have to remind me a few more times."

"I'll continue to do that then…if you can promise me to always voice what's bothering you," she added the last part softly.

"I'm not really good at that," he admitted.

She smiled at him. "And I'm not really good at this comforting someone thing, but since I don't really think it's appropriate to tell you 'to suck it up', I guess I'll have to improve on that as well" she joked. "So you can see that we're both a bit out of our comfort zone."

Her humorous example of her shortcomings and no-nonsense straight forwardness had the desired effect, and she saw him smile at the thought. "I guess we need to help each other then."

"That sounds like a deal," she grinned at him. "Have I told you that I love you today?"

He pretended to think about it, "Maybe once or twice."

"I'll tell you again then. I love you, Marty."

"And I love you, Kens," he leaned forward and she met him halfway, in a tender, yet emotional kiss.

...

"Ops stat, guys," the technical operator called down, as Sam and Callen was reentering the bullpen after their trip to Deeks' precinct.

"What's up Eric?" The team leader asked, as they entered the Ops Center.

"While you were out, we received a document package from the CIA," he started. "In the package was a list of all of Troyger's known aliases, we ran them all and…" he gestured to Nell.

"We found that he has used one of his old aliases, Trent Mumford, at a hostel near Palmdale, late last night." She nodded towards Eric.

"And get this, he's booked the next two days as well, not sure what he is waiting for, but there is a smaller airport in Palmdale." He explained.

"How long does it normally take to get some fake papers created?" Sam asked wonderingly.

"He is going to need a _really_ good one, so it would be at least a few days," his partner answered.

"That would line up with the timeframe of his bookings." Eric answered, proud at making the observation.

"Okay, Eric you send a tactical squad to meet with us out there. Nell I want to see if there are any cameras in that area, I want a visual confirmation that Troyger is in that hostel." He ordered, fulfilling his role as team leader perfectly. "Eric can you-"

"Send you the address…got it," the tech operator smiled at the situation.

"Wait," Nell called just as the two senior agents were exiting the Ops Center. "Don't you think it's weird that this information just gets dumped on us like this?" She asked worryingly.

Callen had a small chuckle, before he shrugged and voiced the only possible explanation, "Hetty."


	8. Chapter 8

**I am SO sorry for the delay in uploading this chapter. Real life has been real crazy and I have been beyond busy.**

 **This will be the last update of this story for quite a while, reason being that I, in April, will be traveling to the United States to work at a Summer Camp until mid August-ish. Because of this, I simply won't have the time (or internet connection) to upload. I hope that you will all understand and accept this.**

 **Anyways, hope you enjoy this (long delayed) chapter!**

 **-Cape**

* * *

Hetty leaned back in her comfortable office chair, her usually well-hidden triumphant smile made a rare appearance on her face, when she saw two of her agents descend the stairs in only four leaps. She knew that her contact within the agency had come through for her, despite having to be strong-armed into cooperating with her in the first place. Never one to shy away from keeping favors from anyone, she had merely reminded him kindly, but firmly, of why he would do it for her, to which he finally relented.

When she saw Sam and Callen rush into the armory, she knew that, as much as she liked accumulating them, calling in _that_ favor had been worth it. They had gotten the information needed to track down the loathed individual, whom had caused such despair in her young detective, and through him, the rest of her team. Although she would never voice it aloud, she wouldn't exactly be opposed to the idea of Jonah Troyger never being able to see the inside of a courthouse. She felt torn at the thought, not because she was opposed to _off_ someone…unofficially, of course, but because she was unsure of whether she would prefer the longevity of suffering for Troyger in prison or the swift mercy and vengeful justice of a bullet in order to be able to tell Mr. Deeks that he was _gone_.

Taking another long sip of her newest acquisition of exotic tea, she decided that as long as her agents didn't do anything that would lead to an internal investigation with certainty, she would be okay with either of the outcomes. She was positive, that she would be able to dissuade any investigation if their actions merely hovered somewhere in the grey area.

Not even a minute after her two seasoned agents had made their way to don the tactical gear, her technical analyst quickly walked down the stairs and towards her office in order to inform her of the development of the case. Although she already knew what her employee was about to tell her, she smiled welcomingly at the red-haired woman nonetheless.

...

Deeks looked bashfully at the sheets that were covering him, mindlessly fiddling with the soft cotton, even though he hadn't cowered at the sound of the Doctor's voice, he still felt uncomfortable having eye contact with anyone but Kensi.

"So, Mr. Deeks, I'm not sure whether or not Agent Blye has spoken to you about it yet, but I aim for you to begin your mandatory therapy sessions starting tomorrow," Doctor Jameson informed his patient after he had gone over his vitals. Although his voice was warm and calming, the experienced doctor's voice left no room for arguing. Doctor Jameson had only had a few visits with Deeks, where the blond detective was actually awake, but he had somehow already managed to be able to keep the injured man from fearing his presence, a great sign of improvement, which he had been happy to write down.

Kensi looked to her boyfriend with a softened expression, hopefully optimistic that he would not turn down the offer of professional help, as he had the last time. He had already promised that they would get through this awful time in their lives, but promising something and going through with it were two very different things, especially when the one who made the promise had just gone through _another_ unthinkable and traumatizing event.

She gave his hand a squeeze, and hoped the small reminder that she was by his side was enough for him to draw the strength needed to accept the silver-haired doctor's suggestion of starting therapy by the next day.

In response to the squeeze, Deeks slowly turned his head, removing his gaze from the spot it had been fixated on since the physician had entered, and settling his sight on the beautiful woman. Although he knew, she tried to hide it; through her weak façade, he saw the hopefulness painted clearly on her soft expression alongside with what he deciphered to be fear. Fear that he would turn down the need for therapy. She needn't worry, he thought to himself. He had promised her that he would get through it, that _they_ would get through it, and he had meant it. He had learned from the previous experience he had at the hands of a psychopath, that he needed someone to talk to, someone to vent all his anger, frustration, and sorrow to and even though he knew he could do that to Kensi, he needed someone unbiased and unaffected by the whole situation.

Having reached his conclusion, he nodded, timidly at first, but as he grew more confident that he had made right decision, his nodding became more assuring in its movements.

Accepting the offer, he was rewarded by the most beautiful sight he could ever imagine, as the wide, affectionate smile of Kensi Blye slowly crept forward. Although a bit watery, there was no mistaking the smile that she saved specifically for him, the one that would light even the darkest of nights, just as she brightened the darkness of his thoughts currently.

"Thank you," she whispered loudly to him.

"I promised, didn't I?" He asked rhetorically, his voice matching her loud whisper, albeit a bit gruff with emotion.

"You did," she pecked his lips and leaned her forehead against his, not caring that the doctor was still in the room. "I'm glad you went through with it."

...

Two streets over from the hostel, where Eric and Nell had confirmed the alias 'Trent Mumford' had accommodation, the two senior agents stepped out of their vehicle and waited for the arrival of the tactical squad, whom would be arriving within the next few minutes.

As expected, two black vehicles with dark tinted windows parked haphazardly in the otherwise barren parking lot, and a single man exited the leading car. "Callen, Hanna…wish it was under other circumstances," he greeted the two senior agents before reaching forward and offered his hand.

"Good to see you, Carmichael," Callen greeted, shaking the proffered hand.

"So who are we looking for?" The seasoned marine-turned-NCIS agent asked.

"Jonah Troyger, rented a room under the alias 'Trent Mumford'; a freelance 'special interrogations technique' contractor." The senior special agent quickly briefed the leader of the tactical squad, as he showed him a printed photo of the culprit.

"This about Deeks?" Carmichael asked solemnly without taking his eyes off the picture now in his hands, which surprised both the senior agents.

"How do you know?" Sam demanded, somewhat angrily. Furious that someone had leaked the fact that _their team mate_ had been injured and was hospitalized, and that was without even thinking of the potential security issues that came with such a leakage.

With a somewhat non-committal shrug, the tactical squad leader explained, "Something like that travels fast through the grapevine, and though I usually try to ignore any rumors, something like _that_ is pretty hard to ignore." He looked at the two agents, whom he considered friends, "And from the look on your faces, I take it that it is actually worse than what I've heard."

Nodding solemnly, Callen confirmed what Carmichael had just said, "It was really bad, yeah…" The team lead sighed deeply, "We know a few of the things they did to Deeks based on, what we saw in the room and what his injuries told us, but he hasn't even _been able_ to actually speak of the things Troyger did to him yet."

"Son of a bitch," the grizzled squad leader muttered under his breath. A stern, almost hateful expression set on his face; they knew that the only thing that trumped the seasoned agent's loyalty was his fiery protectiveness of anyone of his fellow agents. With a harsher voice, which both senior agents knew was directed at the situation and not them, he asked icily, "What's the goal here? Do you want to take him alive, or are we hoping to see him draw a weapon?"

Callen's eyebrows shut up in surprise at the questions, he knew that Carmichael was a 'get stuff done' type of agent, but was still taken aback by the vehemence portrayed in the man's voice.

"Alive," Sam took over from his partner. "However… _if_ he goes for a weapon, we are authorized lethal action, but I'd prefer to see him interrogated by Hetty before being sent to some black-site, never to be seen again."

That response seemed to greatly satisfy the tactical squad leader, whom with an almost feral smile asked, "Want to get this show on the road then?"

...

Kensi once again found herself sitting watching her partner in everything sleep. She was carefully monitoring the rise and fall of his chest along with any signs of terror on his face.

Although he was awake and lucid more often than when they first brought him in, he still slept a lot due to the nature of recovering trauma. At first she had been worried, but the doctor had settled her fears, telling her that it was more than expected that a man with 'such an amount of varying injuries' needed almost constant rest.

It seemed the most common reason for him waking up was the night terrors, which his dreams brought him. He had told her about the one dream in particular, which seemed more prevalent than others. It was the one, where instead of getting rescued as had happened, the one opening his torturous prison was no savior, not one of his colleagues from OSP, but instead he would see the feral grin of the psychopath named Jonah Troyger yet again.

As if merely thinking his name summoned him in Deeks' dreams, he started weakly thrashing underneath the thin, white sheet covering him. Instantly Kensi was at his side, lovingly caressing his cheek with her left hand, being mindful of the cuts and bruises there, whilst her right hand was secured firmly in his, drawing comforting circles on the back of his palm.

"It's alright Marty. You're okay. It's me, Kensi…you're in the hospital," she repeated the mantra, or a variation of it, to him as he slowly awoke from his dreadful dreams. She still deliberately used his first name, as she knew it would be a further comfort to him, since she usually would only call him that in the security of their own home.

"'M sorry," he mumbled once he was sufficiently lucid again.

"You don't have _anything_ to apologize for," she softly admonished him.

He seemed to accept her words, as he leaned into her loving touch, reveling in the comfort he gained from such a simple gesture. It was both incredibly heartwarming and heartbreaking to the female agent that such a simple act from her meant so much to him currently.

Although quite redundant, she once again vowed to never leave his side throughout his recovery.

"M-my mind's not going," he said very timidly after a few minutes of gathering strength through her touch.

"Hmm?"

"My mind's not going," he repeated a little louder, but Kensi still had to strain to hear it.

Her brows furrowed at the strange sentence and she asked softy, "What do you mean by that, Marty?"

"It's not like last t-time," he started. Taking a deep breath, or as deep as his injured ribs would allow, he continued, "My mind i-isn't all jumbled…I c-can make sense of m-my thought, b-b-but…" he started sobbing, trying to get the words out.

Kensi wrapped her arms softly around his head, pressing it tenderly towards her chest, as one would do a crying child. She bent her head down to place a timid kiss into his hair, and without moving her lips further away, started whispering comforting murmurs to the sobbing form.

After a few minutes, when he seemed to have calmed down, she let her thoughts drift back to his words. It was quite evident that he was comparing, what he was currently going through to the other time he had endured unspeakable things. She knew, through various heartfelt conversations with him, that he had felt his thoughts overwhelming back then. Was that what he was referring to now? It would make sense, since he had told her that Nate had said the feeling of being overwhelmed was probably because he did not have anything to compare that experience to. He did now, she thought gloomily.

Deciding it best not to push for what he was about to say, she continued rocking back and forth ever so slightly, continuing to comfort her boyfriend to the best of her ability.

...

The two tactical vehicles sandwiched in the Sam's beloved muscle car, all three vehicles were parked just around the corner from the sleazy hostel, waiting for green light for the operation.

Just before Carmichael departed from the parking lot to brief his subordinates, Callen had received a phone call from Eric, whom had been able to further hack into the hostel's booking list in order to get the exact room number for Jonah Troyger aka. 'Trent Mumford' was staying. That little tidbit had made the operation much less risk-free for any civilians, who might be on the premises.

Once they had been able to confirm, through a call from Nell to the front desk, that the target was indeed in his room, the back door to the two vans swung open and out rushed the tactical squad. Through their rigorous training, they operated like a well-oiled machine, and as such, almost wordlessly got into their assigned positions. Two teams of two agents split off and moved to cut off any potential escape route from the back, whilst one of the few female agents broke off and made her move towards the reception area to inform, whomever was currently working there of the situation. They were ready to breach the door to the room within two minutes of exiting their vehicles.

At the front of the line stacked on the door was the one wielding the mini-ram closely followed by Sam and Callen, whom after explaining the situation to Agent Carmichael was actually offered the spearhead position on the breach, much to the surprise, and appreciation, of the senior agents.

Receiving a curt nod from the senior agent standing opposite of him, the agent with the breaching tool drew a deep breath before expertly slamming the mini-ram into the door. The door flew open and he quickly took a step back, allowing easier entrance to the other agents, whilst he quickly dropped the tool and reached for the carbine he had in a strap on his back.

Before he even had a chance to enter the sleazy hostel room, it had been secured.

They had surprisingly been able to catch Troyger whilst sleeping. He had been awoken by the door to his room getting smashed open, but had little time to prepare himself for the rush of agents, whom currently stood looming in the room, each with their own weapon fixed at him.

" _Please_ go for the gun," Callen almost growled at the man. Whilst he was against using excessive force, an inkling within him had hoped that Troyger would have been able to reach it before they had secured the room, thus giving them an excuse to end his miserable existence.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably more around fifteen seconds, Sam had enough of waiting. "Get up," he barked at the scar-faced man; wrestling him to his feet before he slammed him into the wall in order to more safely cuff him.

None of the agents in the room even lifted an eyebrow at the rough handling of the man and all seemed more than contempt with how him being detained was handled, perhaps a little disappointed that the culprit was still breathing.

Even though Deeks wasn't technically an agent…yet, most of the tactical team had met him on a few different occasions and, as with all else, were quickly on friendly terms with the normally cheery detective. As such, once they knew the man they were to capture was the one, whom had injured their friend and colleague, they had taken to the task with upmost vigor and professionalism.

Less than five minutes after the start of the operation, three vehicles were driving away from there, one arrestee richer. Their destination was the boatshed and the entire tactical squad was acting as personal convoy to ensure that the culprit would arrive at the location without any incidents.

...

Some time whilst gently continuing her rocking motion, the emotionally exhausted, and physically damaged, detective had fallen into fitful sleep once more. Only when she had been absolutely certain that he had gone to the land of dreams had she tenderly placed his head back down on his fluffy pillow.

As such, she once again found herself sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair that had been in the hospital room for her. Leaning her head back she closed her eyes for a few moments, the darkness helping her make sense of her thoughts.

Upon hearing the door handle slowly turning, Kensi shot to her feet. She had no idea how long she had drifted off for, but she was now alert and ready again. The trained agent reacted instinctively and had already pulled her gun free from her small, although still chose to keep it behind her back.

Half a moment later she released her breath, unaware she had even held it in the first place. Into the room came not an unwanted culprit, but instead the kind and pixie-like face of her friend.

The small woman turned into a read-headed missile and, what seemed instantaneously, had her friend enveloped in a tight hug.

When they broke apart, Kensi could see clear concern in her friend's eyes, which had a thin layer of unshed tears in them causing them to glean.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't get here earlier," Nell broke the silence. "It's not that I didn't want to, it was just we needed to find Troyger and because of that me and Beale had to-"

"It's okay Nell," Kensi interrupted the incoming tangent. "I understand."

The response caused a careful smile to emerge from the redhead, "It's just that you're been here for Deeks the entire time…but who's been here for you?"

The concern for not only Deeks but also her was incredibly heartwarming to the otherwise tough female agent. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she answered, "I'd much rather you and the guys spent your time getting the bastard, who did this to Deeks than you came here to comfort me."

Although the words may have been somewhat harsh, the tone was surprisingly cautious. Nell thought it must have been because her friend and colleague had realized that no one on their handpicked team would actually do that. Even Kensi had left her partner in the hospital at one point because of her sense of duty. She might have regretted it terribly afterwards, but she had done it nonetheless.

Deciding to put the brunette's worries to rest, she told her, "We got Troyger, Kensi. Sam, Callen, and a tactical unit caught him in a hostel near Palmdale and were transporting him to the boatshed, when I left to go here."

Seeing Kensi was about to protest, she continued, "They're okay with me being here. Callen and Sam have everything under control on their end, Hetty is headed to the boatshed to lead the investigation, and Eric can take care of the fort up in OPS for the time being."

As she finished unconsciously accepting the information, Kensi's slow nodding turned firmer as she finished processing, what was being said. With a now firm expression on her face, she ordered, "Tell me everything."

...

As Nell was starting to wrap up her in-depth description of how everything came together, the blond form slowly started rousing from his sleep. Kensi's attention was, of course, immediately drawn to the movement and quickly signaled for her friend to be quiet. She knew that Deeks was slowly becoming better at not panicking at new voices, but there was no need to start startling him now, when all it took was a little pre-warning of another person being in the room.

As such, she stood up and walked the few steps to stand besides the hospital bed, "Morning Marty," she softly whispered. When she got a mumbled reply in return, she continued, "Nell is here with us, baby, okay?"

Upon receiving a nod in confirmation, Kensi signaled to her female colleague to join her at the bedside. When the tiny lady stood there, she saw the injuries to Deeks' face up close. The numbers of cuts and bruises visible was too much for the usually bubbly person, who was unable to keep the tears at bay any longer and quietly started sobbing.

"It's alright Nellasaurus," he surprised both women by breaking the silence. "I'm okay…I _will be_ okay," he corrected himself.

"You'd better," Nell told him firmly. "Otherwise you won't get anymore Scooby Snacks."

The casual bantering caused a chuckle from Kensi, a chuckle that quickly turned into a full laughter. She wasn't actually sure _why_ she was laughing, probably relief she though. Relief that it _would_ all be okay in the end. Nearing the end of her laughing fit, she looked down at her boyfriend and saw the fist real smile from him since the incident; the sight brought happy tears to her eyes. She kissed him carefully before dragging the chair over, so she could sit and hold his hand.

Nell mimicked the gesture and dragged her own chair closer to the bed. Once settled down, she started re-telling Deeks, what she had just told Kensi.

...

On the busy streets of Los Angeles, the convoy of two inconspicuous vans and a Dodge Challenger was getting closer to the destination, the boatshed. Although they were nearing their secret facility tensions were running high amongst the agents. Their previous bad experiences telling them that it's not over until you are safely back at the predetermined location, in this case the boatshed.

Because of this, Callen had called Eric with a request that the technical operator had seemed a little too giddy to perform. He had asked if it was possible to force all the intersections they were driving through to turn green, when they would approach them. Apparently that had been something Eric had wanted to test for a long time, and as such, he attacked the task with childish glee. The result was that the convoy arrived at the pier almost fifteen minutes earlier than they most conservative estimation would have had them do.

Parking right outside the facility, they quickly, and roughly, ushered their arrestee into the building. Once inside, they guided him into interrogation room one, where they roughly shoved him into the chair and secured him to it. Without uttering another word, they left the room in order to let him stew.

A few minutes later, Callen and Sam could hear distinct tire screeching outside of the boatshed. Even though they had an entire tactical squad surrounding the area, they stood up in preparation if need be. Seconds later their operations manager walked through the door wearing a deeply serious expression on her face, an expression that would have anyone who recognized it running away in terror.

The two senior agents nodded a greeting to her, but it was Sam who broke the silence, "Troyger's in room one, has been for the last five minutes."

"Good. Thank you Mr. Hanna," she gave him an appreciative nod. "Whilst driving over here, I contacted our friends in the agency, whom were most eager to get their hands on Mr. Troyger. They were most insistent that it is to happen instantly, but I managed to sway their decision towards delaying that for an hour by claiming to have an entire tactical squad standing guard currently. We _do_ have them standing guard, do we not?"

"You do," another voice sounded, entering the building.

"Thank you, Mr. Carmichael," she sent another appreciative nod to the leader of said squad.

"If you would excuse me gentlemen, I do believe I have something to attend to," the tiny operations manager icily said and was walking towards the interrogation room before anyone could respond.


End file.
